


Liz gets to know Harry Potter (and she can't believe he saved the wizarding world)

by Kathi2017



Series: The Life of Liz North [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Family, Gen, Gryffindor, Hogwarts, Hufflepuff, Liz doesn't like Harry, Orphans, Ravenclaw, Sisters, Slytherin, Students, and I'm not sure if humor is the right tag, and unicorns don't like Minerva, but everything else is alright, but it's definitely funny in parts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:26:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 31,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24177370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kathi2017/pseuds/Kathi2017
Summary: What if Professor McGonagall had not been the marauders' teacher but a fellow student? And what if she had a daughter around Harry's age?While Lily and James Potter are killed and everyone is talking about their son Harry, there is another orphaned child in wizarding world: Elizabeth North.When Elizabeth's parents are bitten by a snake, Minerva McGonagall - a friend of theirs - adopts Elizabeth and her sister and decides to raise them at Hogwarts. Being educated by the teachers right from the start, Elizabeth becomes a smart and talented witch who knows Hogwarts as her home. But this does not mean life is easy for her.
Relationships: Minerva McGonagall & Original Female Character(s), Minerva McGonagall & Severus Snape, Original Female Character/Silvanus Kettleburn's Nephew, Rolanda Hooch/Minerva McGonagall, Severus Snape/Original Female Character(s), but those last two are basically irrelevant
Series: The Life of Liz North [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1872493
Comments: 1
Kudos: 9





	1. Privet Drive No. 4

**Author's Note:**

> Parts of this work are exactly copied from the "Harry Potter" series by J. K. Rowling. I do not mean to call her work my own, but it was necessary to copy some of the text while rewriting scenes from a different perspective.

Minerva McGonagall was tired. She had been waiting all day at Privet Drive in the shape of a tabby cat, sitting on a brick wall and watching the people who lived there. Wizards everywhere were celebrating since dawn and sending owls like crazy. But she did not want to celebrate anything before a certain wizard told her it was true.

Meanwhile it was midnight, and she was still sitting on the wall, waiting for the man who would tell her whether she could believe the rumours or not.

Eventually a someone appeared at the corner she had been watching, and he appeared so suddenly and silently as though he had just popped out of the ground. Minerva stared at him, with her tail twitching nervously. _Finally._

She could be sure that nothing like this man had ever been seen in Privet Drive: He was tall, thin and very old with silver hair and beard, both reaching beyond his belt. He was wearing a purple cloak dragging on the ground while he was walking. His light blue eyes were bright and sparkling behind half-moon shaped glasses, and his nose was very long and crooked.

His name was Albus Dumbledore.

First he did not seem to realize that Minerva was watching him because he was looking for something in his cloak, but suddenly he looked up and noticed the cat that was sitting at the other end of the street. As far as Minerva could see from her wall, he smiled and muttered something like: “I should have known.”

Then he found what he had been searching for: A device that looked like a silver cigarette lighter. When he clicked it, one lamp after the other went out. He clicked it twelve times, until the whole street was dark. The only lights that were left belonged to Minerva’s eyes watching Dumbledore.

No one of the neighbours would have a chance to see from their windows what was happening on the pavement.

Dumbledore put the lighter back in his inside pocket and walked down the street towards the wall on which he sat down next to Minerva.

“Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall.” He turned towards the tabby, but Minerva had already turned herself back to her human shape. She was now wearing square glasses and an emerald cloak, her black hair was drawn into a bun.

“How did you know it was me?” she asked. Seriously, how could he have known? There were hundreds and thousands of cats in England, right?

“My dear Professor,” Dumbledore replied, “I’ve never seen a cat sit so stiffly.”

“You’d be stiff if you’d been sitting on a brick wall all day.”

“All day, when you could have been celebrating?” Dumbledore wondered. “I’ve must have passed a dozen parties on my way here!”

Professor McGonagall sniffed angrily. Partying, that was the only thing those people knew. “Oh yes, everyone’s celebrating,” she said impatiently, “you’d think they’d be a bit more carefully, but no. Even the muggles have noticed something’s going on, it was on their news.” She pointed her head at the Dursleys’ house. She had heard the news when Mr Dursley had switched the TV on after work. “They’re not completely stupid. They’re about to notice something. Shooting stars down in Kent, I bet that was Daedalus Diggel. He never had much sense.”

“You can’t blame them,” said Dumbledore gently. A little _too_ gently, as Professor McGonagall thought. “We’ve had precious little to celebrate for eleven years.”

“I know that,” she assured quickly. “I’m not as dumb as Daedalus Diggel. But that’s no reason to lose our heads. People are being downright careless, out in the street all day, not even thinking about muggle clothes and swapping rumours.” She threw a glance at Dumbledore, waiting if he would tell her something, but he didn’t.

“A fine thing it would be if on the very day You-Know-Who seems to have disappeared at last, muggles found out about us all. I suppose he really has gone, Dumbledore?”

“It certainly seems so,” said Dumbledore. “We have much to be thankful for. Would you care for a sherbet lemon?” What on earth were sherbets?

“A what?” she asked little creative.

“A sherbet lemon. Some sort of muggles‘ sweet that I’m mad about.”

“No, thank you,” said Professor McGonagall. She wanted to talk about important issues, and he was eating sweets? What was wrong with him?

“As I say, even if You-Know-Who has gone…”

“My dear Professor…” She would also appreciate if he could stop saying _My dear Professor_.

“… surely a sensible person like yourself can call him by his name. All this You-Know-Who nonsense for eleven years. I’ve been trying to persuade people to call him by his proper name, Voldemort.”

Professor McGonagall flinched, but Dumbledore didn’t notice, because he was busy helping himself to two sherbet lemons.

“It all gets so confusing if we keep saying You-Know-Who. I‘ve never seen any reason to be frightened of saying Voldemort‘s name.”

“I know you haven’t,” said Professor McGonagall exasperated, trying not to sound too admiring. “But you’re _different_. Everyone knows you’re the only one You-Know-Who – all right, _Voldemort_ – was frightened of.”

“Voldemort had powers I will never have.”

“Only because your to… well, noble to use them.”

“It‘s lucky it‘s dark. I haven‘t blushed so much since Madam Pomfrey told me she‘d like my new earmuffs.”

Professor McGonagall shot a sharp look at Dumbledore. “The owls are nothing to the rumours that are flying around. You know what everyone‘s saying? About why he disappeared? About what finally stopped him?”

Finally she had reached the point she actually wanted to talk about, but was also anxious to discuss it. She fixed Dumbledore with the most piercing stare that she could manage. No matter what people were saying, she was not going to believe it until Dumbledore had confirmed it.

Dumbledore did not answer immediately as he took another sherbet lemon.

“What they’re saying,” she went on impatiently, “is that last night he turned up in Godric‘s Hollow. And that he went to find the Potters. The rumor is that… Lily and James Potter… are they really… dead?”

Dumbledore nodded silently. Professor McGonagall gasped. “Lily and James… I can’t believe it… I didn’t want to believe it… Oh, Albus…”

Dumbledore reached out and patted her on the shoulder. “I know, I know,” he said heavily. At least he did no longer care for his sherbet lemons.

Professor McGonagall‘s voice trembled as she went on. “That‘s not all. They‘re saying he tried to kill the Potters‘ son, Harry, but he couldn‘t. He couldn‘t kill that little boy, no one knows why or how, but they‘re saying that, when he couldn‘t kill Harry Potter, Voldemort‘s power somehow broke and that‘s why he‘s gone.”

Dumbledore nodded again.

“It‘s… it‘s true?” faltered Professor McGonagall. “After all he‘s done, all the people he‘s killed he couldn‘t kill a little boy? It‘s astounding. Of all the things to stop him… but how in the name of heaven did Harry survive?”

“We can only guess,” said Dumbledore. “We may never know.”

Professor McGonagall pulled out a lace handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes beneath her spectacles. She thought about her girls, twelve-year-old Miranda and her younger sister Elizabeth, who were hopefully sleeping in their bed at Hogwarts. She felt not ready to call them her daughters yet, although the adoption papers told her she could. Their parents, friends of hers, had been killed by a snake. Not by Voldemort. No real difference, she thought, only that the snake had been hungry and Voldemort just evil.

Dumbledore gave a great sniff as he took a golden watch from his pocket and examined it. It was a very old watch, it had twelve hands but no numbers. Instead, little planets were moving around the edge. Then he put it back in his pocket and said: “Hagrid‘s late. I suppose it was he who told you I‘d be here, by the way?”

“Yes,” said Professor McGonagall. “And I don‘t suppose you‘re going to tell me why you‘re here of all places?”

“I‘ve come to bring Harry to his aunt and uncle. They‘re the only family he has left now.”

“You don‘t mean… you can‘t mean the people who live here?” cried Professor McGonagall, jumping to her feet. It was true that she had no experience at parenting, but she was absolutely sure that being raised at Hogwarts was better for a child than having to live with these people.

“Dumbledore, you can‘t!” she exclaimed. “I‘ve been watching them all day. You couldn‘t find two people who are less like us, and they got this son – I saw him kicking his mother all the way up the street, screaming for sweets! Harry Potter come and live here?”

“It‘s the best place for him,” said Dumbledore firmly. “His aunt and uncle will be able to explain everything to him when he‘s older, I‘ve written them a letter.”

“A letter?!” Professor McGonagall sat back down on the wall. “Really, Dumbledore, you think you can explain all this in a letter? These people will never understand him. He’ll be famous! A legend! I wouldn’t be surprised if today would be known as Harry-Potter-Day in future. There will be books written about Harry Potter, every child will know his name!”

“Exactly,” said Dumbledore, looking very seriously over the top of his half-moon glasses. “It will be enough to turn any boy’s head. Famous before he can walk and talk. Famous for something he won’t even remember. Can’t you see how much better off he’ll be, growing up away from all that until he’s ready to take it?”

Professor McGonagall opened her mouth but then changed her mind, swallowed and said “Yes. Yes, you’re right, of course.” He was the boss, after all. “But how is the boy getting here, Dumbledore?” He would not bring Harry hidden in his cloak, would he? Certainly not.

“Hagrid’s bringing him.”

“You think it wise to trust Hagrid with something as important as this?”

“I would trust Hagrid with my life,” said Dumbledore. Yes, she knew that, but she had not asked him about his life but Harry.

“I’m not saying his heart isn’t in the right place,” Professor McGonagall admitted, “but you can’t pretend that he’s not careless, he does tend to… what was that?”

A low, rumbling sound had broken the silence around them. It grew steadily louder as they looked up and down the street for some sign of a headlight. It swell to a roar as they both looked up at the sky and a huge motorbike fell out of the air and landed on the road in front of them. If the motorbike was huge, it was nothing to the man sitting astride it. He was almost twice as tall as a normal man and at least five times as wide: Hagrid.

“Hagrid,” said Dumbledore, sounding relieved. “At last. Where did you get that motorbike?”

“Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore, Sir,” said the giant, climbing off the motorbike as he spoke. “Young Sirius Black lent it to me. I’ve got him, Sir.”

“No problems?”

“No, Sir. House was almost destroyed, but I got him out there alright before the muggles start swarming around. He fell asleep as we were just flying over Bristol.”

Professor McGonagall bent over the bundle of blankets. Inside, just visible, was a baby boy, fast asleep. On his forehead she could see a curiously shaped cut, like a bolt of lightning.

“Is that where…” she whispered.

“Yes,” said Dumbledore. “He’ll have that scar forever.” Forever? That did not sound very pleasant. The poor boy would probably be bullied at school.

“Can you do something about it, Dumbledore?”

“Even if I could, I wouldn’t. Scars can come in useful. I have one myself, above my left knee, which is a perfect map of the London underground. Well. Give him here, Hagrid, we’ll better get this over with.” Dumbledore took Harry in his arms and turned towards the Dursleys’ house.

“Can I – can I say goodbye to him, Sir?” asked Hagrid. He bent his great shaggy head over Harry and gave him what must have been a very scratchy, whiskery kiss. Then suddenly Hagrid let out a howl like a wounded dog.

“Shhh!” hissed Professor McGonagall. “You wake the muggles!”

“Sorry,” sobbed Hagrid, taking out a large, spotted handkerchief and bearing his face in it. “But I can’t stand it. Lily and James dead and poor Harry off to live with muggles…”

“Yes, yes, it’s all very sad, but get a grip on yourself, Hagrid. He will be found,” Professor McGonagall whispered, patting Hagrid gingerly on the arm as Dumbledore stepped over the low garden wall and walked to the front door. He laid Harry gently on the doorstep, took a letter out of his cloak, tucked it inside Harry’s blanket and then came back to the other two.

For a full minute, the three of them stood and looked at the little bundle. Professor McGonagall blinked furiously, thinking about how three kids had lost their parents within a few months and she could only take two of them – but if fate was nasty, no one of them would have a happy childhood. No one had ever tried to raise a child at Hogwarts, maybe it was the completely wrong place for small children? Maybe in the end Harry would be the happiest of all three? Maybe Elizabeth would hate her for keeping her locked up in a boarding school all year round? Maybe she would be even worse at parenting than Mrs Dursley?

“Well,” said Dumbledore finally, “that’s that. We’ve no business staying here. We may as well go and join the celebrations.”

“Yeah,” said Hagrid in a very muffled voice, “I’d best get this bike away. Good night, Professor McGonagall, Professor Dumbledore, Sir.” Wiping his streaming eyes on his jacket sleeve, Hagrid swung himself onto the motorbike and kicked the engine into life. With a roar it rose into the air and off into the night.

“I shall see you soon, I expect, Professor McGonagall,” said Professor Dumbledore, nodding to her. Professor McGonagall blew her nose in reply. Dumbledore turned and walked back down the street. On the corner he stopped and took out the silver cigarette lighter and clicked it. Twelve balls of light sped back to their street lamps so the Privet Drive suddenly glowed orange.

Minerva turned herself to her cat shape again and silently left the street. She had to go home and look after the girls.


	2. Letters

Tip, tap, tip, tap, tip, tap. Her comfortable ballet shoes made barely a sound as Liz hopped over the tiles of the school corridors. All the pupils had left for their summer holidays, even Miranda had headed for France – in fact, it was the first time that Liz spent her whole summer holidays in Scotland.

It was, too, the only reason why she dared to hop over the tiles like a little girl. She was almost twelve years old, after all, and already working like a grown-up.

Tip, tap, tip, tap, left, right, left, right… She untied the apron strings on her back while walking, then she took off her white apron, did a pirouette and tossed the apron up to the ceiling. For a few seconds she stood and watched it come down, then she left the apron right in the middle of the corridor and ran up the stairs to her mum’s office.

On the doorstep, she stopped for a moment. As far as she could see, Minerva was sitting at her desk, supervising several quills that were all writing the same letter on pieces of parchment.

“Hey, Lizzie… come in,” she invited Liz without even looking at her. How did she always know who stood behind her?

Liz walked up to Minerva and hugged her from behind. “Don’t you come eat with us?”

“I would, but I have to work.”

“Still?” Liz knew that Minerva had to write all the letters for the future pupils, but today she would usually be done with it.

“Yes.” She put her wand down and turned towards her daughter. Brushing imaginary dust grains from Liz's black dress, she asked: “What happened to your apron?”

“I’ll take it on when I go back to the Great Hall,” Liz told her. “Promise.”

“You’d better go back immediately. They’re already waiting for you, I bet.”

“Can’t I stay with you?” Liz asked carefully. “Just for half an hour? I gotta talk to you.”

“Not now.”

“Just for ten minutes?”

“No.”

“Two minutes?”

Minerva sighed. “Alright. What do you want to know?”

“Why do you have to write so many letters? They’re not for the new pupils, are they?”

“Oh yes, they are. Kind of. Harry Potter doesn’t get his letters, don’t ask me why, so I’m sending him more letters until they can’t ignore them any longer.” She looked tired, as Liz noticed now.

“Can’t you just write that stuff later and join us for dinner?” Liz asked her impatiently. “The last time you ate something must be like, seven or eight hours ago! Even Snape is already missing you!”

“You’re making that up.” Minerva took her wand and let the quills write on.

“I’m _not_ making that up!” Actually, it had been Professor Snape who had sent her to Minerva’s office. “But if you want to starve, that’s your thing. I won’t try to save you.”

Liz marched out of the office and closed the door with a bang. “Saint Potter doesn’t get his letters?” she murmured. “Well, he probably does not want to come then. Maybe living with his aunt and uncle has turned him into a boring muggle. Maybe he is a squib and they just didn’t notice. Oh, whatever.”

Saint Potter didn’t get his letters and Minerva was slowly going nuts? Well, she still had Miranda and all the other teachers. And she was absolutely sure they wouldn’t prefer Harry Potter to her, Elizabeth North, only because he was famous.

“Sorry, Potter,” she smirked as she put on her apron, “but fame’s not everything, you know?” Then she went back to the Great Hall, singing _Save your kisses_ _for me_ and dancing like Brotherhood of Man had danced when they had won the Eurovision Song Contest.

* * *

“This soup is gorgeous,” Dumbledore said when Liz arrived at the Great Hall. “Can we get some more of it?”

“I think so,” Liz replied. “Anything else you want?”

“A further bottle of wine,” Professor Snape demanded. “What’s about your mum, is she coming?”

“Not today, I’m afraid. Letters for Saint Potter. Inconceivably important. By the way, I don’t think you should drink so much wine if you don’t want a headache tomorrow.”

“Nonsense,” Professor Snape grumbled. “Bring me a bezoar with the bottle of wine, I don’t want to die in case some nasty house elf poisoned it.”

“I’m very sorry, Sir, but that will never happen,” Liz answered. “Unless you show me how to kill a goat and take the bezoar from its stomach.”

Both Professor Snape and Professor Dumbledore smiled at her. “Good girl,” Snape said, and Dumbledore added: “One day you will be our headmistress, you’ll see.”


	3. House Trouble

Liz had spent the last holiday week in London. She had wanted to go shopping and see something else than Hogwarts before terms started and she would be stuck at school again. Minerva had brought her to London and asked Tom from the Leaky Cauldron to look after her until Miranda returned from France. Then she had gone back to Hogwarts. Liz wondered where Minerva’s new confidence in her came from, but maybe she was just stressed out with her job and relieved because the Death Eaters were gone.

On 1st of September Liz and Miranda took the Hogwarts Express like they always did, and like always Liz didn’t have to carry a suitcase full of books. Last year, she had not needed any school books, and this year she was going to use Miranda’s old ones that had stayed at Hogwarts since her graduation. Miranda used to sleep or chat with the conductor for the whole trip, but today she told her sister everything about her holidays. Liz had not much to tell in return, she had stayed at home with a handful teachers and the ponies, Selene and Aiolos – Miranda ran a riding school for muggle kids, so it was plain that both sisters had their own pony.

This year would be the first year as a Hogwarts scholar for Liz, so she was allowed to join the first years in their boats, but it did not feel that special for her. After all, she already knew Hogwarts from every possible point of view. When Hagrid knocked at the old oak door and Professor McGonagall opened, Liz already started thinking about anything that was not related to magic or schoolwork.

Standing in a chamber next to the Great Hall, Professor McGonagall said: “Welcome to Hogwarts”, and then she gave a speech and told the, important pieces of advice, but Liz did not actually listen. She knew the whole system of this school, and she was absolutely sure she wouldn’t need her mum’s first year advice, whatever it was.

As soon as Professor McGonagall had left the room, the kids started talking.

“Do you know what the ceremony is like?”

“Will it be very difficult?”

An evil smile sneaked into Liz’s face. “I’ve seen it many times,” she said seriously. “It’s hard, indeed. Loads of pupils died during the ceremony. Purebloods as well as half-bloods and muggleborns. But if you’re a true wizard, you have nothing to fear.”

Now the other kids were even more upset. Liz was trying hard not to shake her head at them. It was only logical that most pupils didn’t want to tell their siblings about the Sorting Hat and rather invented stories to tease them. Their parents, however, should know the ceremony, at least some of them. Did they really keep it secret until their children were sorted into their houses?

When Professor McGonagall returned and took them to the Great Hall where the Sorting Hat started to sing, some pupils stared at Liz angrily. She kept smiling, though. “Snape was right,” she thought. “I’m definitely a Slytherin.”

* * *

The sorting took its time. Liz calculated that she’d be around the middle of the list, so she would not have to listen the first few minutes.

“North, Elizabeth!”

When her name was called, Liz went straight to the chair and put the Sorting Hat on. She was the one to walk most casually of all, like the teachers noticed. Nevertheless, she had the most reason for being nervous, they thought, since she had belonged to all four houses until now.

“Hmmm,” said the Sorting Hat inside of Liz’s head. “Difficult.”

“Not to Gryffindor,” she whispered. “I beg you, take me anywhere, but not to Gryffindor! Otherwise I’ll have to kill myself.” Since her mum, her sister and her dead parents had been at Gryffindor, she really wanted to belong to a different house.

“Hmmm,” the Hat said again. “Not to Gryffindor. You’re definitely no Hufflepuff, so we have Ravenclaw and Slytherin left.”

“Slytherin!” thought Liz wildly. “I’m a Slytherin I’m a Slytherin I’m a Slytherin. Gotta make Snape proud. Gotta have fun with snakes. I’m a Slytherin I’m a Slytherin I’m a Slytherin.”

“Difficult,” the Hat repeated. “You’re smart and I don’t think you could remember the key word for the common room. But you’re also talented, and you like snakes and the head teacher of Slytherin. Sorry, I can’t do that if I want to keep my job. GRYFFINDOR!”

“I _beg_ your pardon?!”

“Yeah, Gryffindor. Go and enjoy yourself.”

Disappointed and angry, Liz laid the Sorting Hat back on its chair and trotted towards the Gryffindor table where she got herself a seat near the teachers. Nothing against the Gryffindor people – always good for a little fun, and they had the cosiest common room of all. But when it was Saint Potter’s turn (was he listed below P or S? Good question, hehe) she was absolutely sure she could hear him whisper “Not to Slytherin, not to Slytherin!” And of course, because he was Harry Potter and his dad had been a marauder and his mum a boring _nice girl_ and both had been Gryffindors, the Sorting Hat put him to Gryffindor. _Great._

* * *

After Dumbledore’s speech, but before he started to eat, Harry noticed there was trouble on the end of the Gryffindor table. The tall, light-skinned girl with this black ribbon in her hair, who had told them tales about the ceremony, was arguing with Professor McGonagall. They stood besides the table, discussing and gesticulating.

“My precious daughter…” he heard the teacher say.

Professor McGonagall had a daughter?

“Hey!” A young woman who looked like she had already graduated jumped up from the edge of the bench. She was wearing a ponytail and muggle clothes. “That’s not fair! Why don’t you ever call _me_ your precious daughter? _She’s_ the one making trouble!”

Professor McGonagall had two daughters?

And one of them even was in his grade? Very interesting indeed. None of his books said anything about teachers who had own children. But on the other hand, none of his books said the teachers weren’t allowed to have their own family, so he figured this was normal. He would ask the black ribbon girl occasionally, he decided, then he got distracted by a plate of sausages.

* * *

“I’m not going to serve today, am I?” Liz asked Minerva immediately after the food had appeared on the tables, trying to stay calm. “Oh, wait – you already got me so far that I actually _want_ to serve. But I don’t have to wear this awkward apron, right? You had your chance to laugh at me for a whole year, but now I’m twelve and a Hogwarts scholar, and I still have some pride left!”

“My precious daughter…” Minerva replied patiently, but she was interrupted by Miranda.

“Hey!” she shouted, jumping up from the bench. “That’s not fair! Why don’t you ever call _me_ your precious daughter?” She pointed at her sister. “ _She’s_ the one making trouble, after all! Am I not good enough to be a headmistress’s daughter or what’s the matter?”

Liz’s evil smile returned. “Well, you were already as old as I am now when she got us. She didn’t do much of your education or parenting, and you keep talking about your _Mum_. Really wondering why she doesn’t call you her daughter?”

Minerva sighed. She should really try to reduce all this sighing, Liz thought, it only made her seem older. “Dearest Miranda, you’re 22 years old. From a witch of your age I’d expect more tolerance – and more self-confidence. Talking about the precious-daughter-thing, I meant it ironic anyway. Liz, why do you even ask? Of course you’re going to serve. Not today if you don’t want to, but every other day. Your company is way more pleasant than the company of a few house elves. And of course you’re wearing your apron, it’s really not that ugly.”

“It makes me look like Madam Pomfrey!” Liz complained. “I don’t mean to call her ugly, but no one wants to look like a nurse! And I haven’t spilt anything over my dress in ages!”

“Alright,” Minerva said, already smiling again. “Without the apron. Off you go.”

Halfway satisfied, Liz sat down at the table and helped herself to a croissant. No apron was at least something, and triumphing over Miranda was another something. She had liked to try some of the dishes she’d helped making, but she had to eat quickly, and apart from that she had not had a single croissant during the holidays.

Finishing her croissant, Liz noticed that something about Snape’s facial expression had changed. She knew this expression better than she wanted to know it. It meant that he would ask for wine within the next thirty seconds, and she’d better get him a bottle now. It was not like he was an alcoholic, but there were days when he didn’t know any limits. She had stopped wondering how he managed to drink so much wine within so little time.

Liz sped to the kitchen and was already back when Snape emptied his glass. “Elizabeth!” he shouted.

“I am here, Professor.”

“Oh. Right.” He took the uncorked bottle of wine from her arms. “Have you ever been told that this ribbon looks cute as fuck?”

Oh, crap. Some negligent house elf must have forgotten to mix the teachers’ wine with water, like they always did. And Snape hadn’t noticed it. Lucky the new bottle actually contained more water than wine.

“I thought you wanted to join Slytherin?” Snape went on while he poured wine into his glass. His way of moving and talking did not tell he was drunk, only _what_ he said was somehow… treacherous.

“I wanted,” Liz said grudgingly. “But I couldn’t. This hat is partial.”

“Yeah, I heard about it.” Snape emptied his glass with one gulp. “Nice ribbon, really. Minerva’s taste is not bad at all, even though I used to tell her the opposite. Why don’t you taste this soup? I’ll get you a chair.”

They spent the whole evening eating and chatting, Snape did not even ask for a further bottle of wine. No one seemed to notice that Liz was sitting with the teachers, and if someone noticed, at least they didn’t care. Snape told Liz about his first year at Hogwarts, who enjoyed listening to stories from back then without being slapped or thrown out of the room for once. Both of them did not think about Harry Potter as long as they were eating – tomorrow would still be early enough to get to know him.


	4. Potions

The Potions lessons were the one thing that Liz had been looking forward to for years. Her favourite subject, as far as she could know, taught by one of her favourite teachers and somehow connected with cooking, only better. What could go wrong?

Snape read out the pupils' names for the start of the lesson, and this time even Liz was listening. He went over her name like it meant nothing to him, only when he had reached Harry Potter he paused. “Harry Potter,” he said quietly. “Our new… _celebrity_.” He used the same tone as Liz did when she wanted to appear as the Slytherin girl who was always in charge. As the Slytherin girl who she wasn’t any more, she thought bitterly. Liz snickered behind her desk. “Got you in 10, 9, 8…” she murmured. Ten years at Hogwarts had taught her the answer to almost every question Snape could ask them. No chance Saint Potter would be prepared that good.

After reading out all the names, Snape gave a speech. Actually, every teacher had given or would give a speech before the first proper lesson. Liz could not say if his speech was similar to Professor McGonagall’s, since in both cases she got distracted after a few words. This time she even got distracted _by_ the first few words and soon was hopelessly lost in her own imagination.

“Potter!” Snape said suddenly. “What would I get it I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?”

“Easy,” Liz thought. It was one of Snape’s favourite questions when she was bringing more wine, often mixed with jokes like: “If you know, why didn’t you use it” or “In any case, you’ll get expelled if you put it into my glass”. Second year stuff indeed, but still easy. Quickly she got out a quill, ink and a piece of parchment and wrote both the question and its answer down in her neatest handwriting.

As she had assumed, Saint Potter was not prepared. Only Hermione Granger raised her hand.

“I don’t know, Sir.”

Snape smiled like Liz had smiled before the sorting ceremony. “Well, fame’s not everything. Where would I find a bezoar?”

The Slytherins were laughing again, while Liz knew the answer and wrote it down. This question also belonged to Snape’s collection of testing jokes, and if you knew the answer once, it was hard to get it out of your brain again after you imagined getting such a bezoar by yourself.

“I don’t know, Sir.”

“What is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?”

Hermione stood up, almost touching the ceiling with her fingertips. God, this girl was awful. How much worse would it get when she once started talking?

The third question was one of the kind that could be solved by analysing the question itself. Two names were given, one difference was asked. If it had been an existing, but small difference, Snape had probably used the botanical names which would only differ in one aspect, because the English names would have told the difference to Potter, who was not likely to know Latin. If it had been a big difference, he had probably asked about the differen _ces_ because there had been more of them. Only the question _“Is there even a difference?”_ could have been more obvious.

Liz wrote it down, adding a bit of extra knowledge to show off. She knew that Snape knew that she knew the answers, and she also knew that Snape knew that she was writing her answers down because it was no secret that all the teachers liked written words of any kind.

“I don’t know, but I think Hermione knows,” Saint Potter tried to save himself. “Why don’t you take her?”

A few pupils laughed, some didn’t dare to show any reaction, Liz snorted contemptuous. How could they think Snape had not realised that Hermione knew the answer? He had even noticed Liz’s parchment although she was sitting in the last row, as far as possible away from the blackboard.

Snape told Hermione to sit down and walked to the back of the classroom where he took the piece of parchment from Liz’s desk. “ _Asphodel and wormwood_ _produce a sleeping draught called “Draught of_ _the_ _Living Death” that will make you sleep past your potions lesson – a bezoar can be found in the stomach of a goat and will cure most kinds of poison – monkshood is the same as wolfsbane is the same as aconitum/aconite_ ,” he read out. “Excellent answers, Miss North.”

Liz was almost sure that she could hear something like pride in his voice, and the others heard it too. While they wondered, however, Snape left Liz’s desk and turned to the rest of the class. “Why don’t you write that down?!”

* * *

For the rest of the lesson, they tried to brew an easy healing potion. Snape was not pleased with anyone’s potion, except of Draco Malfoy’s – for some reason he seemed to like him or, as Liz thought, he wanted to avoid meeting his father. Which would be evident.

Liz’s potion looked like it had come straight from the textbook, and making it took exactly the same time as making the others’ potions. Snape was not satisfied, though. “Miss North,” he would say, obviously criticising and so quietly that she hardly could hear it. “This is not what I expected.”

“But… this is a textbook potion,” Liz stammered.

“I know this is a textbook potion, you don’t have to tell me.”

“So… you don’t want a…?”

“Look, there are people like Potter and Malfoy. They can’t do it better than it is in the books. They spent their life with muggles and house elves. But you don’t put the least effort in a potion and it’s still better than theirs – within half of the time it took them to brew their potions.”

“Isn’t that… uh… good, somehow?”

“It is. But I want every scholar to try their best.”

“Yes, Sir.” How could he know about her potions knowledge? (Okay, dumb question.) And why did he pretend that Liz had not spent her life with muggles and house elves? On some days she actually met more house elves than wizards – talking about a boarding school, it meant she really spent much time with house elves.

“For this time, your potion is all right, but next lesson…”

Their conversation was interrupted by Neville Longbottom, who had somehow managed to melt Seamus Finnigan’s cauldron, letting the potion get on the floor and burn holes into people’s shoes. Snape rushed over to them, where he immediately started shouting at the Gryffindors and blaming Neville and all the others for moving his cauldron off the fire too late.

Of course this was not fair, but Liz could understand him. Snape had had much to complain about Gryffindor today – first Saint Potter, who was not prepared at all, second herself, who didn’t bother doing a good job, third Neville, who was forgetful _and_ clumsy…


	5. Family

Within a week it turned out that Liz was pretty good at Charms and an expert when it came to Potions, but awful at Transfiguration. In the first Transfiguration lesson she turned her match into a wooden needle, which made her look like Hermione, then burnt the needle by mistake, which made her look like Seamus, and Minerva could only hope she would get better.

* * *

Harry, on the other hand, hated Potions with a passion, and was no expert in any subject but Flying. After his first Potions lesson he thought he really needed to talk to Black ribbon girl, whatever her name was. He eventually caught her when they were on their way to Charms and she had somehow dropped all of her books and a bottle of ink at the same time.

“Excuse me – could you stop for a moment?” he asked politely.

Black ribbon girl bent down and started collecting her things. “Not for you but for my books, I guess.” A quill fell from her pocket. “Damn it.”

“Sorry, what was your name again?”

“Elizabeth. Call me Liz, you don’t have to worry about the th.”

“Okay, Liz. So, er… you are Professor McGonagall’s daughter?” Harry asked nervously.

“Yep,” she answered without looking up.

“And… who is your father?”

“I don’t have a father.” She piled her books into his arms and collected the rest of her stuff. “Which doesn’t mean I wouldn’t need one.”

“This doesn’t make sense,” Harry told her. “Everyone has a father. Or do you mean he’s dead?”

Liz put her quill and ink back into her bag and took her books from Harry’s arms. “Oh, if you mean the bloke who didn’t want a second daughter – yeah, he’s dead. And his goddamn wife too, may they burn in hell forever. They died around the same time as your parents, I was, like, two years old when Minerva – I mean, Professor McGonagall – adopted my sister and me. So she is my mum, and the teachers are family. Except Quirrel, maybe. He never cared for me when I was younger.”

They had gone on to Professor Flitwick’s classroom and were now almost there. “Do you know what’s funny?” Harry asked. It didn’t make a difference by now, they were late anyway. “First I thought Snape was your dad.”

Liz snorted. “I wish he was.”

“You mean he doesn’t want to be?”

“I never asked, actually. There’s this woman on his mind… and it’s not Minnie, of course. I don’t think he wants a daughter whose mum is Minerva McGonagall.”

Harry was not convinced. “If you don’t ask, you’ll never know.” Meanwhile they were standing in front of the classroom.

Liz shrugged her shoulders. “Anything is better than being rejected.”

Harry wanted to open the door, but she got in his way. “One more thing, Potter. Have you ever heard of the Mirror of Erised? Of course not. Well, if you find it one day… It shows your family. I’m sure it does.” She sent him one of her rare comforting smiles before opening the classroom door.

Professor Flitwick looked up from the blackboard. “May I ask why you are late?”

Before Harry could say anything, Liz stepped forward. “I’m sorry, Professor, it’s my fault,” she said although she thought it wasn’t. “We were talking on the way here, won’t happen again.”

“Talking?” Professor Flitwick raised his eyebrows. He knew very well what Liz thought of Harry Potter, and Liz knew that he knew. “Would you like to tell me what you were talking about?”

Technically no. But Professor Flitwick was head teacher of Ravenclaw, which meant he would find out anyway, so yes.

“Family,” she replied, taking a seat in the last row. Family. Two orphans talking about family. That sounded like either a bold lie or a tragedy. Professor Flitwick just gave them a worried look and took no points from Gryffindor – Liz figured it had been the latter.

* * *

Since Liz had been at elementary school, Minerva used to have dinner with her and Miri at least every two weeks. Liz did not have to serve then, Miri was not going out with her boyfriend or her friends and they were sitting in Minerva’s office around the desk, just the three of them. These were the few evenings without Minerva, Snape and Professor Dumbledore arguing about Liz’s education, Professor Dumbledore making funny comments and Snape getting drunk while Professor Sprout was talking with Liz, who disappeared every ten minutes to get more food for everyone.

Today was such an evening, but for once Liz was not looking forward to it. She didn’t know what Minerva wanted to talk about – Potions, Transfiguration, or her conversation with Saint Potter? It happened almost every month that she was given a talking-to on those dinner nights when the other teachers could not hear them, but this time she was definitely not prepared well for it.

The worst thing that could happen was that Minerva would force her to make friends with Potter, which none of the kids had liked. But maybe she was just going to acknowledge her daughter’s achievements at Potions and Charms and kindly remind her of the next full moon. Who could know what was going on in her head?

“Take your shoes off, Liz,” was the first thing Minerva said after coming to her office where her girls had been waiting for her. “You’ve been wearing them all day, that’s not good for your feet. And, Miri – put that phone down. It shouldn’t work here anyway.”

Miri, who was leaning against the wall and playing with her mobile phone, let out an annoyed sigh. “Of course, almighty headmistress.” Remarkably slowly she let the phone glide into her pocket and approached the desk which Liz had put four plates on, one with a great pile of sandwiches on it.

“Be careful,” Minerva called from the small flat behind her office that they lived in, “I can still hear you! Let me take my cloak off quickly, I don’t want the food to get cold.”

“Cold?” Miri murmured. “Oh, please, we’re talking about _sandwiches_. It’s not like we had pulled pork or something.”

“Not this story again, I beg you,” said Minerva, grabbing a chair and sitting down at the desk.

But Miri was stubborn. “When Mum and Dad were still alive, we often had pulled pork,” she continued. “Well, not often, but compared to how often I get pulled pork here at school, it was very often.”

Minerva buried her face in her hands. “Stop it or I’ll hex you.”

“Mum would spend the whole day in the kitchen,” Miri went on. “And when she was finished, Dad used to say…”

“Shut the fuck up and eat your sandwich! If you don’t, I’m gonna eat all these sandwiches by myself before they’re cold,” Liz threatened her. “And there’ll be nothing left for you.”

“Doesn’t hurt me at all,” Miri said nonchalantly. At least she was eating her sandwich now. “I’m going on a date at Hogsmeade tonight, and I guess we’ll get something to eat.”

“A date at Hogsmeade?” Minerva repeated. “With this guy from Diagon Alley?”

Miri nodded.

“Nice guy,” stated Liz.

“Wizard,” added Minerva.

“Will you marry him?” asked Liz.

Miri nearly choked. “Of course _not!_ ”

“Why not?”

“He’s not even a werewolf!”

Since their father had been a werewolf, the girls were werewolves, too. To Liz, this meant nothing special, she didn’t know it any other way and meanwhile some useful brews had been invented that made their fate really acceptable. Unfortunately, their mother had had two last wishes before her death: First, Liz would become a Transfiguration teacher after finishing school. Second, one of the girls or both had to marry a werewolf. (No one could imagine why she had chosen those two wishes of all, it did not make much sense. But last wishes always had to be granted.) At the moment, Minerva was trying to persuade Miri that marriage was not that bad. If that wouldn’t work in time, Liz would have to bite and marry someone – this was only plan B, however.

“If he’s not a werewolf, you can still bite him.”

“Liz! I am _not_ going to bite my boyfriend!”

“No problem. I can do it for you,” Liz offered.

“ _No one_ is going to bite my boyfriend, is that clear? Last time checked, you were the one to marry and have children.”

“Nearly right. I am the one teaching the subject I’m absolutely dreadful at. And it was never said you had to have children. But the rest was correct.” Liz grinned and took a further sandwich.

“I don’t think I have to put up with this nonsense.” Miri stood up and took her coat on. “See you tomorrow at breakfast.”

Liz and Minerva looked at each other as the door closed behind her. Liz shrugging, Minerva sighing.

“She’s never gonna get over it, is she.”

“Elizabeth…”

“Yeah?”

“ _I_ am not getting over it.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

There was a break in which Liz ate two and a half sandwiches while Minerva was staring at the door absent-minded and saying nothing. Finally she asked: “Did you talk to Severus about…”

“Did it yesterday. Told me I didn’t have to remind him every month.”

“If you don’t, he won’t do it.” Minerva helped herself to a sandwich – she had not eaten anything until now. “Filius told me about your conversation with Mr Potter. Is it true that you were talking about _family?_ ”

“Well, I was talking about family. Potter was the one listening and asking dumb questions. Can you believe he thought Snape was my dad?”

“Damn! I bet Pomona five galleons that he’d take Albus. Should have known she was right.”

“Professor Sprout is into gambling?” Liz asked curiously. “That’s a new information. But why didn’t she bet Potter would take Voldemort?”

Minerva flinched, but Liz did not notice.

“I mean, she’s got a thing for unlikely stories. You should have heard some of the fairy tales she used to tell me – gorgeous!”

“Inspiring Peeves to new pranks and liking snakes does not make someone You-Know-Who’s child,” Minerva muttered. Her daughter was not listening, however.

“Oh, I know!” she called out. “I got a nose, that’s why!” Liz almost fell off her chair laughing. “Why doesn’t _he_ have one, by the way?”

“I don’t know if You-Know-Who has got a nose,” Minerva said diplomatically. “Who told you what he looks like?”

“Uh… _someone_ ,” Liz replied. “I don’t want you to go out and hex everybody, but I think it was _someone_.”

“Sure it wasn’t someone who showed you his old memories by any chance?”

“Well. I prefer not to answer. Why _his memories_? It could also have been a woman, right? Maybe a ghost?”

But she could not fool Minerva. She knew her daughter, she knew the ghosts, and she knew her colleagues. She had already found out Professor Dumbledore had showed memories to Liz that no one should ever get to see. And most probably Minerva wouldn’t wait until tomorrow evening to give him a real bawling out.

Damn it.


	6. Queen of Mess

“HOW DARE YOU! How dare you show _this_ to my daughter?!”

Hiding behind a large flowerpot in the staff room, Liz was eavesdropping on the conversation between Minerva and Professor Dumbledore. Hiding in the staff room was not actually necessary, to be honest – she could easily have overheard their argument from the corridor.

“Well, Liz can be very persuasive if she wants.”

“PERSUASIVE?! You call yourself a headmaster – _Order of Merlin, first class – Grand Sorcerer – Chief Warlock – Supreme Mugwump, International Confederation of Wizards_ – but let a twelve-year-old manipulate you?!”

“Ten,” Professor Dumbledore said quietly. “She was ten when I showed it to her.”

This made Minerva speechless for a moment. Then she called him an “irresponsible, unreliable old man who should not be allowed to work with children, no matter what age! Even Daedalus Diggel would make a better headmaster than you!”

“At least she can now see the…”

“I DON’T WANT TO HEAR YOUR EXCUSES!”

“… thestrals,” Professor Dumbledore finished weakly.

“That’s not true.” Liz left her hiding place and headed straight towards them. “I could always see them. Miri took me to the room where they died, remember? Her Mum and Dad, aka my biological parents? It’s one of these early memories. Enough for thestrals, though.” It was not like she wanted to get Professor Dumbledore into trouble, but it was too late to help him anyway. And his excuse was just… unlikely. _Very_ unlikely.

“Lizzie!” Within a second, all anger and fury had vanished from Minerva’s face. “What are you doing here?”

“I, um… wanted to… look after Selene?” Liz told her, little convincing.

Minerva smiled. “It’s old news that Selene is a wise pony and she taught you everything you know, but that doesn’t mean she comes to the staff room.”

“Really?” Liz grinned. “I thought I heard some rumours about it. So… may I go to the barn then?”

“You may,” Minerva decided. “Not alone, though. It’s already pretty dark.” She looked at Professor Sinistra. “Aurora, would you please…?”

“Yes, of course.” When Professor Sinistra stood up and put on two cloaks and a scarf, Liz could tell she was not so keen on going anywhere. Being one of the youngest teachers she didn’t complain, though. The nights at Hogwarts were cold, sometimes you could already catch a cold while spending one or two minutes on the corridor, and Professor Sinistra came from Africa. In the barn it was a few degrees warmer than outside, but you should try not to freeze on the way. Minerva knew all this, and she had realised that Liz was only wearing a pullover with Miranda’s old summer dress and boots, so she got rid of her robe and handed it to Liz.

“Take that on,” she commanded. “I don’t want to bring you to the hospital wing with a pneumonia.”

“Minerva, wait…”

“I don’t care it’s too big for you. And I don’t care I’ll have to shout at this senseless idiot wearing jeans. And now you’re going to the barn, if you want to be back before midnight.”

“Let’s talk about thestrals,” Professor Dumbledore suggested as soon as Liz had somehow wrapped Minerva’s robe around herself and followed Professor Sinistra out of the room.

“This! Is! No! Bloody! Excuse!”

Liz didn’t look back, but it sounded like Minerva was banging her head against the wall before talking about walks in the Forbidden Forest eight years ago. When Professor Sinistra had reached the end of the corridor, Minerva was already swearing in Gaelic, which hardly a first year did know. (She had told her daughters that swearing was not _that_ bad if no one understood it. Liz didn’t know Gaelic, only French, but that was good enough for her purposes. When Liz was swearing, people were supposed to understand every single word – otherwise she wouldn’t have to swear at all, right?)

“Your mum seems quite upset,” Professor Sinistra said almost sheepishly when the shouting from the staff room got quieter. As far as Liz knew, she had always wanted to keep the distance between scholars and teachers up although the others kept telling her this was not working in this particular case. Nonetheless, she had taught Liz everything she needed to know and a little more about the moon and all the other planets. Star constellations were not important until she would choose Astronomy as one of her subjects.

“Upset is not quite the right word,” Liz corrected her. For the rest of their meal, Minerva had treated her extra kind and talked about School Quidditch, which Liz didn’t like, then about joke articles, which Liz liked a lot but Minerva didn’t. It had not been difficult to figure out where she was going when she had finished eating. “Let’s just say, she wants to chop his head off.”

Professor Sinistra gasped.

“Nothing that Miranda’s Mum would do, of course,” Liz went on bone-drily. “Neither would her Dad. Thank God I don’t have to live with them.” When she noticed Professor Sinistra’s gaze, she quickly added: “Not because of the chopping-off-heads. Just in general. Minerva’s a way better mum than Laura used to be.”

“Why do you call your parents _Miranda’s Mum and Dad?_ Don’t you want them to be your parents?”

“Well…” Liz hesitated for a moment. “Can we play the pretend game?”

“You mean a hypothesis?”

“No, I mean the pretend game. Let’s pretend you’re married and have a daughter.”

Professor Sinistra smiled. “That _is_ a hypothesis.”

“Oh. Okay. Let’s pretend you’re married and have a daughter, and you’re as content as a woman can be. You don’t want a second child, you don’t even think about the possibility, and so you’re living happily ever after with your family. At least for a few years. When your beloved daughter is ten years old, you have a second baby. Now you have two daughters – you don’t want the younger one, however.”

“I would never _not want_ my child!” Professor Sinistra interrupted her upset.

“No. You wouldn’t. You’re kind. But we’re still playing the pretend game. Let’s pretend you now realise that you have to care for both kids, invest double the amount of money and everything. You don’t want, but what choice do you have. You tell yourself: _“_ _Getting rid of her somehow would be immoral. We don’t want to pay for college, though. Let’s make her a teacher”_ and because you’re the luckiest woman in the world, a good friend of you is teaching Transfiguration at Hogwarts. You trust your friend, she will show the ugly duckling how to teach, you don’t have to pay for much, problem solved.”

“That’s not how it works,” Professor Sinistra contradicted as they left the castle and headed to the barn, near to Hagrid’s Hut. “It takes years after your exams until they let you teach yourself.”

“Normally yes,” Liz agreed. “Not if someone makes it their last wish before they die. This way I can become a teacher at the age of nineteen. Eighteen, if Minerva had let me become a scholar last year. She says it’s because she wants me to be in the same grade as Sai… Harry Potter. Fancy another pretend game?”

Professor Sinistra thought about it, then agreed.

“Let’s pretend you’re underage and your parents are dead. You can hardly recall them, only remember seeing them die. The woman who adopted you – the woman you call your mum – shows you memories. Memories of your parents. Memories of them talking to your sister about what she wants to do when she’s older. Talking to friends about what a great teacher you will be. They don’t know yet what kind of teacher, but it’s already sure that you’re going to be a teacher. And then your mother dies, and she says Transfiguration. No matter how bad at Transfiguration you are, you’ll have to teach it. And still you don’t know if these memories are real, you just know that your mother chose the worst of all last wishes in the world while your mum would kill the headmaster for maybe making you have nightmares. If you had to decide with whom to live – maybe if your mother’s death was not real but you’re already adopted – who would you choose?”

Professor Sinistra frowned. “Honestly… I don’t know. I’d probably choose the woman who adopted me, but that doesn’t mean I’d hate my mother as much as you do.”

Meanwhile they had reached the barn where Selene and Aiolos were still awake. On one side there was a gate where the ponies could go out to a large fenced-in area all day, only at night the gate was closed to protect them of everything that lived in the Forbidden Forest – and of werewolves, sometimes.

“As I said before, you’re kind. Maybe I’m not. Who knows.” Liz shrugged and climbed over the fence to close the gate.

After doing so, they both went into the barn – Liz for checking if everything was alright, Professor Sinistra to escape the cold outside. Aiolos was a large, brown gelding that was said to be faster than the wind itself. He belonged to Miri, which was the reason Liz only gave him a piece of apple, cleaned his hoofs and went over to her own pony, Selene – a small grey mare with a long mane. Liz gave her a piece of apple, cleaned her hoofs, brushed her fur, braided her mane and combed the straw out of her tail until Selene looked like she came straight from an illustrated children’s book.

Professor Sinistra waited uncomfortably until Liz was finished, and she didn’t say a single word as they walked back to the castle. Liz understood they were playing another sort of pretend game: _Let’s pretend we never had that conversation. Let’s pretend we were casually chatting about school things. And let’s pretend everything is alright._

When Liz entered Minerva’s office, her mum was sitting at the desk alone. “You had fun?” she asked, and it was plain that she only did so because she thought it her duty.

Liz shrugged her shoulders. “Professor Sinistra told me what a hypothesis is.”

“Nice.”

“Yeah. Is Dumbledore still alive?”

“Yes, but I can’t believe I let him. Did you have nightmares after he showed you his memories?”

Liz shook her head. “Don’t think so. Maybe once or twice, but no _real_ nightmares. Not like, you know, waking up every night, thinking someone wants to kill you, not allowing yourself to fall asleep and so on. Voldemort did never harm me, as I recall.”

Minerva raised her eyebrows. “Sure?”

“I mean, yeah, he’s ugly as hell, but that’s probably not his fault.”

“I meant your nightmares.”

“Oh. Yes, absolutely sure about that. Uh… can I sleep here tonight? It’s pretty late and I don’t want to disturb the people in my dorm.”

“Suit yourself,” Minerva yawned. “Guess I’ll have to spend the night as a cat, otherwise _I’m_ the one having nightmares.”

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Liz was lying in bed and stroking the tabby cat that had curled up next to her. She had messed things up, the girl thought amazed. One week as a Hogwarts scholar, and she had already managed to mess things up. If all this had been about pranks, Peeves would be jealous of her.


	7. Private Lessons

As the days flew by, everything went back to normal. Professor Sinistra didn't talk to Liz for a week, but when she did, she seemed to have got over the issue of Liz's family. Professor Snape brewed the Wolfsbane as consummate as always and Minerva soon stopped being angry at Professor Dumbledore when he caught Liz playing tricks on the Prefects - together with the Weasley twins, who had been her friends since their first week at Hogwarts. The "guy from Diagon Alley" who Miri went out with turned out to be Professor Kettleburn's nephew, which pleased both professors and Liz, while Miri was not so happy with it.

In their second Potions lesson, Liz knew what Snape wanted. He didn't want scholars who could recite from the books like Hermione; he wanted them to understand the basics and find their own way. "Tell me one thing that's difficult about learning the textbook by heart," he had demanded when Liz had been scrubbing cauldrons in the dungeons after one of her pranks, "just one thing. You'll see, there's nothing difficult about it. Even Crabbe and Goyle could recite from the textbook if they bothered. Learning text passages by heart may be useful for History and spells, but I want you to use your _brains_ for once. If you can't see the beauty of a steaming cauldron, find something else you care for. You can't do Charms or Transfiguration or Flying if you miss the point. In this case you can still do Potions, but you won't achieve any results that are actually _worth it_. What you need for Potions is - well, I don't want to call it love - let's call it passion. You need to brew your potions with a passion." And, as everyone could see, Liz had got the passion.

When the pupils were allowed to start brewing their potions, Snape threw a glance at her like he wanted to say: _Show me what you got_. If the song _Lucky Day_ had already been written, Liz had surely not been able to get the tune out of her head. Having spent approximately 80% of her lifetime in the kitchen, she managed to finish her potion half an hour earlier than the others. Like a star chef she whirled around her cauldron, using some more of one ingredient and a little less of another, letting the potion draw a few minutes longer and taking the cauldron off the fire too early, keeping Neville from blowing up his potion in passing.

After finishing the potion, she let it cool down while sitting on her desk and reading _Hogwarts_ _\- A History_ , which soon caught Snape's attention.

"Miss North," he said coldly. "I told you to make potions, not to read history books."

Liz didn't even look up. "Yes, I know, Sir."

"Then why are you hanging around like a lazy bat?"

"You told us the potion had to cool down before we can use it. Well, my potion is cooling right now."

"Right now," Snape repeated. "Gryffindors. You are joking." But she wasn't, and for some reason Liz knew that Snape hoped she was serious.

"Well, then... maybe you should check the cauldron," she invited him. "Don't touch it, though. It's still pretty hot."

The Potions Master grabbed a ladle and stirred the contents of Liz's cauldron. Slowly, he took a scoop of it and poured it back into the cauldron, smelling its aroma.

"You're quick," he then said. "Be assured I'm going to take a note." He made a few steps towards the blackboard before he added: "Miss North - detention. Tonight, at seven. And five points to Gryffindor."

_"Five points to Gryffindor"_ had to be taken as _"fifty points"_ when it was coming from Snape. The other pupils gasped, realising it was the first time since the start of terms that Snape had given any points to Gryffindor. This made some people wonder about Liz's advanced magical skills, but sure enough she had already made enemies, too. Their admiring was soon mixed or even replaced with jealousy, and not completely baseless she was said to be Snapes and Professor McGonagall's favourite scholar although the two of them were much stricter towards her than towards the others.

When Liz got to the dungeons at 7 pm, Snape told her he had never seen such good results in a first year's lesson, especially not within such a short period. He offered to give her some extra lessons every now and then, covering the second and third year's topics as she already knew everything she would need for year one. Liz had rather got regular extra lessons at Transfiguration, but she knew about Snape's Transfiguration skills (Minerva used to make jokes about it) and it didn't seem like he would take no for an answer, so she just agreed.

* * *

Similar things happened at one of their Charms lessons when they were eventually allowed to try _Wingardium Leviosa_ , a basic levitation spell.

Liz already knew pretty well how to swish and flick since Professor Flitwick had showed it to her a week ago and she had been practising a lot with the Weasley twins - most of the time they had been sitting in the kitchen and helping theirselves to sweets using _Wingardium_ _Leviosa_ and _Accio_. Liz was not yet ready to use _Accio_ herself, but she was firmly determined to learn it as soon as possible - it made everything so much easier for a lazy young witch.

When Professor Flitwick told them to levitate the feathers on their desks, Liz was already bored of the task before she had actually started. _Feathers_. They would fly by themselves if someone was only _breathing_ next to them. She made her feather tickle a few pupils' necks, whispering the spell as quiet as she could - nonverbal spells also belonged to her list of things she wanted to learn, the sooner the better - until she was told to stop it. People seemed to think she was holding the feather with her hand, so Liz guessed she had to come up with something more spectacular.

When Hermione, this most annoying know-it-all who was probably better at Charms than Liz but had no passion, instructed Ron Weasley how to pronounce _Wingardium Leviosa_ correctly (what about pronouncing it like Professor Flitwick did, heh, Ron?), Liz spotted Trevor, Neville's toad, under her desk. She recalled how Professor Flitwick had levitated Trevor in one of their previous lessons and the scholars had been astonished and eager to learn spells themselves. Besides, levitating a toad could not be more difficult than levitating a plate of muffins, right?

Liz came to the conclusion that everyone would hate her if she was going to show off again, even though levitating Trevor would have been fun. But then Hermione managed to levitate her feather a few inches above her desk, and Professor Flitwick was so enthusiastic and the other pupils so annoyed about it that it technically _hurt_ , so Liz decided Hermione should have her enthusiasm dampened.

She took Trevor and sat the toad onto her desk, then grabbed her wand and whispered the spell. It might or might not have been because it was Miranda's old wand that had been broken once and Professor Dumbledore had repaired it for Liz, in any case Trevor took off the desk and hovered across the classroom, straight towards Hermione's desk and landing next to her feather.

Before Hermione had the time to talk about breaking the school rules and not doing what a teacher had told them and how Liz should be punished for her crimes, Professor Flitwick's gaze was on the last row. On Liz, precisely. "Miss North," he said in a neutral voice, "I see you mastered the Levitation Spell. Could you please remain after the lesson?"

When the lesson was over, he told her about possible extra lessons covering first year's spells, duelling and some more of wandless magic, which they already had started practising together. Unlike Snape, he assured her he would find a way to announce extra lessons without "detention" - he even claimed to have Minerva's blessing. Liz was surprised since Charms definitely was the last subject she needed extra lessons at, but duelling and wandless magic did sound bewitching and quite useful, so she said yes.

* * *

Still, Liz had needed extra lessons at Transfiguration, History, Herbology and school rules in general. No one seemed to care about those subjects, however. Although she kept achieving half-genius results at Transfiguration (such as turning daisies to nails that looked like metal flowers), confusing names and dates, bringing herself into dangerous situations at the greenhouses and breaking at least twenty rules a day, the only help she was given contained spells and potions.

The best thing about her situation was, as Liz thought, that she had much time left for her work in the kitchen. She could even squeeze in a little prank every two or three days, very much to her family's displeasure.

* * *

"Filius, could you spare a minute?"

"Sure, Minerva, I just need to finish this..." Professor Flitwick marked the last essay, then he turned to his colleague. "You want to talk about the Quidditch schedule, am I right? I'm afraid it was Severus's turn this time; you'll have to ask him for alterations."

"Well, no, not exactly," Professor McGonagall replied. "I wanted to ask you about Liz's extra lessons. What did you teach her last week?"

"A little theory... spells pronunciation... wrist movements..."

"Are you kidding me? I've seen her homework and the marks she got for her practical exercises. Theory and pronunciation are nothing she had to get extra lessons for! Tell me, what did you _really_ teach her?"

While Professor Flitwick was wondering what to tell her, Professor Sinistra approached them. "Minerva, can I talk to you?"

"Depends on the topic. Have you had trouble with some Gryffindors?"

"To be honest, I don't know," Professor Sinistra admitted. " _Someone_ painted all the lenses of my telescopes pitch black with a permanent marker, and I can't imagine this _someone_ is not Liz or the Weasley twins or all three of them."

Professor McGonagall frowned. "Don't be ridiculous. How should they have got to the Astronomy Tower without anyone noticing?"

Professor Sinistra didn't know either until Madam Hooch entered the staff room. "One of the pupils stole a broomstick from the chamber!", she said annoyed. "Just yesterday. I can't believe it - first they scold because the broomsticks are too old, and then they break the lock and steal them! Any ideas who's the culprit?"


	8. Fluffy

When November started, it got so cold that Minerva made Liz wear jeans and woollen pullovers instead of her school uniform – since everyone kept their cloak on in the classrooms, no one would notice. Liz was almost sure the other pupils dressed the same way beneath their cloaks, even though a few people probably didn’t dare ignore the dress regulations. 

Since she didn’t fancy sleeping alone anyway and was always looking for an excuse for sleeping at Minerva’s flat, the cold at night didn’t bother her so much: Minerva’s bedroom was large for a single person, big enough for two, but it had been impossible to squeeze a third bed in, so Liz and her sister had to share one. Unfortunately – or rather lucky? – Miranda’s going-out with Professor Kettleburn’s nephew had developed into a proper relationship and Miranda preferred her boyfriend’s company to the company of her little sister, so Liz spent nearly every second November night alone.

* * *

It made Liz kind of angry that Hermione was playing with her blue marmalade-jar-fire at every occasion while she was not allowed to use any kinds of magical flames herself, especially as this was the first and only one of Minerva’s rules she actually tried to obey. 

During the breaks, it got the worst: While the “Golden Trio” aka Saint Potter, his friend Ron Weasley and Miss Look-how-smart-I-am Granger was gathering around Hermione’s jar of flames, Liz was standing in a corner, freezing to death and clutching a book from the library although she could not turn the pages without taking off her gloves. Today she could not even take part in a conversation because tomorrow the first Quidditch match of the year would take place and everyone, including the teachers, was talking about Quidditch. _School_ Quidditch. Quidditch was everything for them – it had even made Minerva buy a new broomstick for Saint Potter without thinking, despite her low salary. 

When Snape came across the school yard, Liz’s mood only got worse. No matter how much she liked to watch him and Minerva bickering – when there was a Quidditch match taking place, their enthusiasm was rather annoying. 

“Show me your book,” Snape demanded when he was standing right in front of her. 

“Yes, S-Sir.” Liz opened her cramping fingers with some difficulty and stretched out a trembling arm to let Snape see her book. It was a book about advanced Transfiguration which she had gotten from the library – she didn’t understand much of its content, but the headmaster himself had recommended it to her, so it felt quite naturally to read it. 

“It’s from the library,” Snape said, flicking it through. “And it’s too difficult for a first year, as one would think.” 

“I know.” 

“You’re not allowed to take books from the library outdoors.” 

“Yes, I know. Why don’t you just take the book and a hundred points from Gryffindor and go somewhere else,” Liz replied tiredly. Spending the breaks alone was one thing, but talking to the Potions Master, who did not keep the distance mental but physical for most of the time, was even less pleasant. It was November, after all. 

Snape looked at her in great surprise. “How can you already know this rule? I invented it only a minute ago!” 

“To be honest, I just don’t care. Why are you inventing rules, I mean, we already have, like, thousands of them – “ 

“Not your business.” 

Normally this sentence would have made Liz even more curious. When Professor Dumbledore said it, it meant that something was really dangerous, and she was not supposed to know about its existence. When the other teachers said it, they were trying to get rid of her although what they were talking about was completely harmless. But when Snape said it – well, in this case it was simply not her business. 

She watched with jealousy as the teacher limped back into the schoolhouse, into the warmth of charms and fireplaces, and probably into the staff room where his colleagues were placing bets on the Quidditch match… At the moment she couldn't wait to become a teacher herself. 

“Hey, Dean!” she said, walking over to him as she suddenly remembered Dean Thomas was a football fan. If he was into football, he probably didn’t like Quidditch, right? Maybe they could have a rather pleasant no-Quidditch conversation. “Did you understand what Min… uh, Professor McGonagall told us today, you know, at the end of the lesson? I’m trying really hard, but somehow I don’t get what she means to tell us.” 

“Oh, sorry, I don’t know either,” Dean retorted, “I think it was something about taking Transfiguration serious. Why don’t you ask her at lunch?” 

Liz made a face. “She’ll only come up with a bunch of Quidditch metaphors that won’t help a thing. You’re not a Quidditch fan, are you?” 

“Actually, I think it’s cool,” Dean answered, shrugging. “I didn’t know it before, but since I know how it works, I like it.” 

“Oh, yeah, okay…” she murmured, trying not to sound too disappointed, “Well, then – thanks for your time.” _Thanks for your time._ What kind of a first year would say that? None. What kind of a _Prefect_ would say that? Probably none. So why was she talking like Professor Dumbledore when he was trying to behave extra politely? 

Liz pulled her thin cloak around herself snugly as Dean joined a group of first years with Gryffindor scarves. Most likely her brain was freezing, she thought silently. She really needed a new winter cloak – although she didn’t even want to know how much it would cost. 

* * *

In the evening Liz was sitting in the Gryffindor common room by the fireplace when suddenly Harry Potter appeared in front of her, which was rather off-putting. 

“Uh… hi,” she said, looking up from her romance novel. “Can I help you with something?” 

“Er, actually, it’s more like I want to help you.” 

“I don’t remember asking for help.” This Potter boy got a little bit stranger every day. 

“No, you didn’t ask, but I saw how Snape confiscated your book today, right after he had taken mine away. I’m going to the staff room to get it back, and I thought you would like me to bring yours as well.” 

“Oh.” Liz was seriously surprised. She had expected him to stay away from her since she did her best to make him dislike her. 

“Do you think Snape is at the staff room now?” What a dumb question. 

“ _Where else should he go, you fool,”_ she hissed, closing her novel with a bang. “That’s a kind offer, but it would more efficient if I go get the books. I’ve got to go to the staff room anyway.” 

“Why?” 

_Why? Because I don’t want to owe you a favour, obviously._ “Promised Professor Sinistra to come over for a chat. Said she wanted to show me something, and I’ve absolutely no idea what it is.” 

Liz put her novel onto the mantelpiece and went down towards the staff room. She knocked at the door. “’scuse me?” 

No one answered. She knocked again. “You know, if you don’t answer, I’ll assume the room’s empty and just walk in.” 

Still no one answered. “Oh, come on, I _know_ you’re in there! I can see the light shining through the keyhole.” 

At last she could hear murmuring voices from inside, then the caretaker Argus Filch opened the door. Liz smiled at him. “Good evening, Sir.” (She knew she was the only one to call Mr Filch ‘Sir’, but as long as she did so, he did not punish her for ‘looking carefree’ or ‘dancing on the corridors’.) 

“Liz.” Snape, who was sitting on a single chair – not at one of the tables – raised an eyebrow on her. “I don’t know which of my colleagues put you in detention, but they’re not here. Obviously.” 

The room was empty except of him, Liz and Mr Filch. Professor Dumbledore was probably at his office, Professor Trelawney and Professor Sinistra on their towers, Professor Sprout at one of the greenhouses and Professor Quirrel… presumably somewhere in the Forbidden Forest, looking for werewolves and vampires. Not that he would be able to find any. 

Liz grinned at the teacher. “Not detention today, Professor,” she told him. “I only wanted to ask for my book – you know, the one about Transfiguration which you confiscated at break. Oh, and can you give me Potter’s book, too? I told him I’d fetch both.” 

“Over there on the table. Why are you getting Potter’s book for him, I thought you don’t like him?” 

“Exactly, that’s why I can’t let him go and get my book for _me_ .” She walked over to the table Snape had pointed at and collected the books. “ _Quidditch Through The Ages_ ,” she read out loud. “Why am I not surprised.” Then she threw a glance at Snape, who had pulled his cloak over his knee. 

“Ew, Professor!” she squealed. “My eyes!” 

Snape’s leg was nothing but a single wound, half-dried blood staining his cloak and forming crusts. If Liz hadn’t known better, she had thought he came straight from a fight with an Abraxan or a Hippogriff. Mr Filch was now helping him to apply a bandage. 

Liz couldn’t believe it. “And _you’re_ telling me to go to Madam Pomfrey when I cut my finger?!” 

Snape stayed calm. “Look at my leg and you’ll learn something for life – don’t go to a corridor as long as Cerberus’s little brother is already sitting there and waiting for you.” 

“So, Dumbledore’s hiding Fluffy on third floor,” Liz concluded. “Which would explain a lot.” 

“That monster is called Fluffy?!” 

“Yeah,” Liz nodded. _“And visiting him was an absolutely dope idea.”_

Snape frowned. “Why do I get the feeling you just insulted me in Parsel?” 

Liz snorted. “Look at me and you’ll learn something for life. If you know a lycantrophile and a parseltongue’s great-great-granddaughter, don’t let them mate. May I ask why you visited Fluffy?” 

“Not your business. Why are you talking like a scientist? Twelve-year-olds usually don’t talk like scientists.” 

“Oh, that’s nothing. Earlier today I was talking to Dean, and when we parted, I said _Thanks for your time._ ” She grabbed the books and moved towards the door. “Can I go now?” 

Back in the common room, Liz made eye contact with Harry. “I got your book,” she told him across the room. “Snape told me not to go to third floor and never take library books outdoors again. Catch it!” She tossed _Quidditch Through The Ages_ over to Harry, who caught it with both hands, before strolling to the mantelpiece and reaching for her romance novel. “Don’t look at me like that, you’re the youngest seeker in a _century_ ,” she said annoyed when she noticed his surprise. “Your catching skills made my mum throw away a _fortune_ – don’t you dare and lose tomorrow!”


	9. Of Snowcats and Whisky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to [Jeanny Turner (Ginada)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ginada/pseuds/Jeanny%20Turner) for inspiration about Professor Sinistra's appearance!  
> (Also used in previous chapters, but I forgot to mention.)

Harry did not dare and let Gryffindor lose the Quidditch match – this and Lee's comments were the only things that made their way to Liz's brain as she was sitting by the Quidditch field, knitting socks absent-mindedly and not wasting a second on watching the players. Gryffindor and Slytherin were fighting, being encouraged by Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff? That was fine, as long as she didn't have to show any signs of interest. Someone was hexing a broomstick right in front of her nose? The Weasley twins would have to tell her about it afterwards. Nonetheless she wanted to bet five galleons it had been Professor Quirrel – it was a shame she didn't have the money. 

In December, Professor McGonagall came to the Gryffindor common room and wrote down who of the Gryffindors was going to stay at Hogwarts for the Christmas holidays. This year, the Weasleys would all stay over Christmas, as well as Harry and a few older Gryffindors. Liz pretended to spend the holidays 'at home' until Professor McGonagall looked at her quite amused. 

“I assume you're not going to stay over the holidays?” 

“No, I thought I could join Draco and help their house elves with cooking and cleaning Malfoy Manor,” she responded seriously. “Just joking, I'll stay.” 

Although Liz and Draco got on well together, spending several days at Malfoy Manor would have been impossible for Liz. Not because of Lucius Malfoy – he was a nice man if you knew how to curtsy and say the right things – but because of his wife. One could not say that Narcissa was the exact opposite of Minerva: Their ways of parenting agreed in many points, and there was no denying that Narcissa would also want to chop Professor Dumbledore's head off if he had showed you-know-which memories to her ten year old son. But still, Narcissa put great effort into hairstyle and clothing and was very much aware of being a so-called pureblood, which made her rather unlikeable, while Minerva used to let her hair down in private life both literally and as a metaphor, wearing jeans and worn-out sweaters and letting her daughters make their own decisions (as long as they were halfway sensible). She never talked about her blood status and approximately ninety per cent of the wizarding world secretly loved her. Draco was proud of being a pureblood (which was, according to Miranda, just another word for marrying your cousin), while Liz called herself a mixed-blood because Minerva refused to tell her about her blood status (and honestly, how do you call someone who is mostly human, sometimes a wolf and sometimes a snake?). A meeting at Diagon Alley, with Draco and his father doing most of the conversation, was fine. A full week with Narcissa, however, would surely kill Liz's remaining sanity – another word that Professor Sinistra had taught her. 

* * *

The Weasley twins had been looking forward to the first snow since the school year had started, so it was no surprise they immediately got punished for making snowballs chase after Professor Quirrel. Liz, on the other hand, was having mixed feelings about it. Sure, horseback riding in the snow was fun, equal to throwing snowballs at Prefects (and Professors) and entering _any_ heated room would feel like a rare luxury. For lack of an actual winter or travelling cloak, however, she would not be able to leave the castle without wearing the Gryffindor scarf she hated or borrowing one of Minerva’s tartan shawls. Liz refused to wear the McGonagalls' tartan since Minerva’s family seemed to be very distant relatives to her – if relatives at all – and she had worn her tie and scarf with pride, if only it had been Slytherin or Ravenclaw ones. For now, she could only hope her sister would give her a sensible, self-coloured scarf for Christmas. 

As every year, Liz expected it would not get any colder within the castle because of the insulating effects of snow. As every year, she got disappointed: When Minerva woke up the first snowy morning, _someone_ had already built a snowcat on her windowsill and she couldn't help the feeling that this _someone_ had been Severus Snape. In return, she put a snake-shaped ice sculpture into the dungeons where it stayed for a week, refusing to melt, before Mr Filch took it away. Jeans were not warming enough anymore; Liz now wore long skirts or dresses with woollen tights and several petticoats. This may sound like an exaggeration, but it was really nothing against Professor Sinistra, who dressed up the same way and put on three robes and two cloaks in addition. 

* * *

Having lived at Hogwarts for over a decade, Liz was used to cold nights and extremely cold winters. She knew that teachers could be twenty times more irritable than normal people and how she had to walk up and down the stairs. She didn't lose her way, even when she was wandering around past curfew, knew every classroom and every more or less secret chamber and had talked to all the ghosts and portraits more often than she could count. She knew that scholars could be idiots sometimes, how they behaved at different ages and how a Slytherin would react on particular behaviour, compared to a Ravenclaw. Actually, one could say it was not possible to make Liz lose her self-control – theoretically. 

Practically, she lost her patience during a Potions lesson, when her brain was freezing once again and, on top of that, Draco stated how sorry he was for those who had to stay at Hogwarts for the holidays. 

“Do you want me to punch you in the face, Draco Malfoy?” she asked, making it sound like an actual question, as though she couldn't believe how dumb he turned out to be. “How can you stand up in class and spread such bold lies? _I_ know Christmas at Hogwarts is great, but you obviously don't, so why are you bitching about it?” Without giving him the chance to answer, she took a breath and went on. “Oh, I think I know why – you want to stay here yourself, but you can't ask your father because you don't have the guts! Christmas at Malfoy Manor, I guess that means three people and a house elf, forcing themselves into some odd kind of conversation. Don't you think it's possible _you're_ the one whose family doesn't want him to come home?” Only then Liz realised what she had just said. “Sorry,” she added quietly and turned back to her cauldron. She had not meant to engage the topic of not-being-wanted-by-parents, but if someone made jokes about her home, her tolerance had reached its limit. Reaching for the knife, she noticed the look on Harry's face. It almost seemed like he was impressed by her behaviour. Which left the question which part of it had impressed him so much. Shouting at Draco Malfoy? Talking in Snape's class? Hopefully not Trying to defend the people who would stay for the holidays. For the record, Liz had only been fighting for herself, not for The Boy Who Saved The Wizarding World.

* * *

“I heard you shouted at Malfoy,” Minerva stated, clearing her desk of O.W.L. essays and the first years' homework. “At the Potions lesson. Bold move, if you ask me.” 

“Good thing I didn’t ask first.” Liz closed the door of the office with her foot, carrying a large pizza that was bigger than the plate. “Do you think he’ll tell his father about how he offended half the school, including kids of purebloods and former Death Eaters?” 

Minerva didn’t go into the question. “It’s not nearly half the school. Are you really trying to make me believe you won’t eat this pizza all by yourself?” 

“Uh… no, not exactly… I believe they’re eating haggis down in the Hall, you could go and get some.” 

“They’re eating _what?!_ ” 

“That dish of sheep’s guts and oat and stuff.” 

“I know what you mean. What kind of a house elf would make haggis without telling me?” 

Liz raised her arms as though she didn’t know and she didn’t care but anyway she was completely innocent. Minerva’s eyes narrowed. “Would you please refrain from using a cutting charm for the pizza.” Then she rushed out of the office and down the stairs, with her hair carelessly put half-up by an ancient-looking clasp and wearing a pullover that she had bought when she had started teaching. 

Spotting the O.W.L. essays in the corner, Liz decided not to take the risk and use her cutting charm. Instead, she called for a house elf to bring her a sharp knife from the kitchen, which was somewhat risky as well – for her fingers – but it was most unlikely that a knife would make the pizza splutter across the room. When the house elf had disappeared again, she wondered how Minerva could be so fond of haggis that it made her forget about her appearance in public. She figured it was the same with the McGonagall’s tartan: It was traditional, it was Scottish, Liz didn’t like it and Minerva thought it was important, even if she was making a fool of herself. 

When Minerva finally returned with a plate of haggis, Liz had already eaten several pieces of pizza, but Miri had still not shown up. “Went on a trip with Mr Kettleburn,” Minerva said when Liz asked about her. “They left in the morning; I don’t know how long they’re away, but anyway you are supposed to look after Aiolos.” 

Liz was surprised. “I thought you wouldn’t allow that.” 

“I wouldn’t. But if she’s marrying him…” Minerva didn’t finish the sentence; she just sighed and devoted her attention to her plate. 

“What are they gonna do on their trip?” Liz muttered, nibbling on her pizza. “I mean, apart from… you know.” 

Minerva picked at her food. “Not much, I’m afraid. Merlin, I don’t even know where they’re going!” 

“Main thing is that Miri’s pleased.” 

“Mmh.” 

Liz was busy with eating her pizza, she didn’t even notice how Minerva put her fork down and rested her head on her hand. All of a sudden, she said: “I _hope_ she gets pregnant.” 

Liz looked up in great surprise. “You think it’s likely?” 

“I… I don’t know. It’s just, she’s meeting someone else every few weeks, and somewhen it _must_ happen… and I hate myself for this thought, but your sister won’t marry unless she’s pregnant.” 

“Hopefully she doesn’t know about abortion.” Liz took a further piece of pizza, then her eyes widened as something came to her mind. “But she hasn’t bitten him yet!” 

“So what? No one ever said her children’s father had to be a werewolf.” Minerva pushed her plate away and went over to her whisky closet. Reaching for her most expensive bottle of whisky, she murmured: “And as soon as they’re engaged, you can bite him. Would you please take the plates to the kitchen?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somehow I feel unsure about the grammar in this particular chapter, so if you spot mistakes, feel free to tell me!


	10. Christmas, finally

With Christmas drawing near, Minerva got more and more irritable every day and the bottle of sleeping draught in her whisky closet emptied faster and faster. Liz could imagine Miranda’s behaviour and the You-Know-What on third floor were too much for Minerva, especially as the first one could easily have been ended. 

No one had told Liz that the You-Know-What from Gringotts was stored on third floor and guarded by Fluffy, but it was not difficult to guess. Why else would Professor Dumbledore talk Hagrid into leaving one of his precious beasts alone on a cold school corridor? And since it clearly was a really dangerous topic, very much inappropriate for a conversation with a kid, why hadn’t the headmaster already discussed it with her? 

When she realised there was no bed-sharing in view until Miranda’s return, Liz began to live at her dormitory again. She avoided going to Minerva’s flat and third floor because she didn’t want to become a victim of her mum’s temper and she needed all her limbs for training the ponies. It was more than just a bit reckless of Miranda, Liz thought as she pulled a halter over Aiolos’s head, to disappear without prior warning and leave her award-winning show horse to a twelve-year-old who only knew the fundamentals of horseback riding. She did not dare sit on Aiolos’s back herself in case she would treat him the wrong way, so she let him walk on a lunge line every day, which her sister had taught her last year. If anything happened to the ponies in her absence, Miranda would lock her up on Fluffy’s corridor, and Liz was not sure whether she could sing enough songs in a row to keep Fluffy sleeping until the end of the school year. Or until someone would try to get the You-Know-What – depending on what would come first. 

As no one cared where she was going and when she went to bed on the holidays, Liz enjoyed going to bed late, getting up at 5 am as always and catching up on sleep during the day. In the evening, she would often sit on her bed in the empty dormitory, knitting or drawing, humming some song by The Bangles to herself and thinking about everything in peace – about Christmas presents, for example. She didn’t receive pocket money, but her birthday money had been enough to buy a box of sweets for Miranda and a muggle book about keeping the snails out of your garden for Hagrid – she had gotten it cheaper because it had a few dog-ears due to a manufacturing error, but Hagrid was no one to care about dog-ears. The rest of the staff would get a pair of knitted socks each – including Mr Filch and Madam Pince, excluding Professor Binns. He tended to forget about Liz’s existence, and vice versa. 

One night, when Liz was finished with the socks and wanted to start wrapping up the presents, she realised she didn’t have a pair of scissors with her. Of course, it was already past curfew, but surely, she wouldn’t get caught if she went to Minerva’s office for the scissors and headed straight back to the dormitory. Just going to the office, she told herself. I’ll get my scissors and disappear; Minerva will be sleeping already. No way she’ll catch me. 

When Liz reached the office, however, she could see the light of a _lumos_ charm through the keyhole. At the first moment she thought it was nothing special: Minerva had probably forgotten to switch the light off. Good for Liz, because it meant she hadn’t locked the door either. She opened it, just a crack, hoping it wouldn’t creak. 

Thankfully the door didn’t make a sound, instead Liz heard Minerva talk. 

“… reckless to bring it here. What does he think he’s doing?” 

Liz chanced a glimpse into the office. The first thing she saw were two pairs of shoes on the floor between Minerva’s desk and her sofa. One pair belonged to Minerva, the other one… not to Hagrid, that much was certain. Maybe Aberforth from the Hog’s Head was paying Minerva a visit? But why didn’t they meet in Hogsmeade, as they used to do? 

Then she realised Minerva was sitting on the Gryffindor-red sofa that didn’t fit in anywhere but in the office, leaning her back against the arm rest and looking away from the door – looking at Snape, who sat next to her in a somewhat casual pose, but still leaning against the back of the sofa. If he turned his head only a few degrees, he would notice Liz. 

“There’s no better place for it than Hogwarts,” Snape assured Minerva. “Tell me about a single place in the world where the stone would be more secure.” 

Minerva sighed and pulled the hairpins out of her bun. (Liz almost wished she had placed a bet on Minerva’s sighing.) “I know, but if you take _everything_ important to Hogwarts, you could hide something at the Three Broomsticks just as well.” When she pulled the last pin out, her long curls fell down her back all at once. “And we are already responsible for Gryffindor’s sword, Fluffy, the Slytherin monster that doesn’t exist and hundreds of scholars. Don’t you think that’s enough for a single school?” 

Snape turned towards Minerva, but he didn’t look at the door. “Are you talking about a particular scholar?” 

“I’m talking about all of the scholars, not only about my Gryffindors and certainly not about Liz.” 

“I knew you would say that.” He reached out for… well, for what did he reach out? 

Liz bent forward to see whether he was touching Minerva’s hair, or even her face – Liz had fairly appreciated it if they were a couple – but Snape just took the hairpins from Minerva’s hand and put them onto the arm rest next to him. Unfortunately, Liz lost her balance and fell against the door, which made a loud squeaking noise when it opened a little further. 

Crap!, she thought. Retreat! _Retreat!_

“Did you invite someone else?” she heard Snape ask. 

“Not that I remember.” Minerva turned her head to see the door. “Come in, unless you’re a vampire.” 

“Not precisely,” Liz murmured. Since it was too late to run away in any case, she pushed the door open and entered the room. “Hi,” she said sheepishly, looking at her mum first, then at Snape. “Professor.” 

“Liz, _please_ ,” Minerva moaned, while the corners of Snape’s mouth twitched. “Do me a favour and go to bed.” 

“Oh. Okay.” Good that she still had a few days left for wrapping the presents. “You guys gonna sleep on the sofa?” 

Minerva gave her a stern look. “I don’t think it’s much of your business where and when we are going to sleep.” 

“Yeah. Sure.” Liz closed the door hastily and went to the bedroom – she wanted to hear more of that conversation, even if she would not dare to look through the keyhole again. 

“Don’t beat yourself up,” Snape said calmly. “Your chessmen have a lock on everyone who tries to get past them.” 

Liz could imagine how Minerva rolled her eyes. “On you, maybe.” 

Were they really playing chess on the sofa? She hadn’t seen a chess board, but that didn’t mean anything; she hadn’t had much time to see what they were doing. Well, if they were really playing, at least she would have enough time to undress and brush her teeth without missing interesting details. 

“What are you up to?” Snape asked when Liz had just sat down on her bed cross-legged. Immediately after it, she heard the magnetic catch of the whisky closet click. It seemed like they were done with the game of chess. “Looking for the cheapest Firewhisky of Hogsmeade,” Minerva murmured. “This is not the moment for an actual Scotch.” 

“Are you always that generous?” 

“Always.” 

When Liz tiptoed out of the office at 5 am, the whole room smelled like the cheapest Firewhisky of Hogsmeade. Minerva and Snape were sleeping on the sofa, limbs in a mess like Mikado sticks, while the bottle with the remaining whisky had fallen over and was staining the carpet. The professors’ shoes had not moved an inch from where they had been yesterday; Minerva’s glasses were lying on the floor next to her hairpins, but not broken. Liz overcame the temptation of demonstratively putting a large bottle of anti-hangover potion on Minerva’s desk and opening the window, and there was no way she would take the carpet to the cleaner’s, but she could not resist taking a photo with Miranda’s camera before making her exit. Miranda would surely give her the negative – if not, Liz could still blackmail her with a picture which showed her at the age of eighteen, making out with a fifth year scholar. 

* * *

Liz had all her presents wrapped up in time. On Christmas Eve, she handed them all to the house elves, who should bring them to the teachers, with exception of Miranda’s box of sweets. Using a permanent marker, she scribbled the words _To the bestest sister in the world_ on the box – her choice of words due to Christmas spirit, she didn’t actually mean it – and chose the smartest and strongest of the school owls to bring it to Miranda, wherever she might be. 

When she woke up the next morning, she was shocked because the clock already indicated 6.30. Liz ignored the presents next to her bed; first of all she had to let the ponies out and feed them, then go to the kitchen and help the house elves with preparing breakfast – although none of the scholars would get up before noon anyway – further she wanted to finish a potion she had let draw overnight and talk to Sir Nicholas. And remember the password, she thought while putting on her new sweater that she had knitted out of the remainders of the wool she had used for countless pairs of socks. She would have to ask the Pink Lady about the password when leaving the common room – it was incredible how fast one could forget such an important password. Liz had better been sorted into Ravenclaw: They had only a limited amount of questions to ask before you could enter their common room, and she already knew all the answers. 

Liz was almost proud of herself when she remembered to ask the Pink Lady about the password. (The other scholars called her ‘Fat Lady’, but she was wearing a pink dress and Liz had been calling her the Pink Lady long before someone had introduced her to the portrait.) When she was done with all her tasks at eleven o’clock, she went back to the dormitory, remembering the password for once, and collapsed on her bed. She lay there for about half an hour, only noticing her presents when she turned to reach for the bottle of water on her bedside table. 

Counting the boxes on the floor, Liz sighed and smiled at the same time. There were six of them. Despite the large number of people she called ‘family members’, she didn’t want presents from anyone but her sister. Miranda was, at least by Liz’s standards, rich and could afford a little support for her every now and then, but everyone else either didn’t have so much money left, or did so much for her throughout the year that they really didn’t need to give her anything but a Christmas card, or both. Lying on her back, Liz opened the boxes one by one. 

New black ballerina shoes from Snape, still too big for her. She would grow into them until next Christmas. 

A box full of various sweets from Professor Flitwick, Professor Dumbledore, and Professor Trelawney. To be honest, Liz could not imagine Professor Trelawney walking into a candy shop – probably Professor Dumbledore had just written her name on the box to make her look nicer. 

A book with legends and fairy tales about plants from Professor Sprout. Hopefully it would help Liz to improve her Herbology marks. 

Enchanted sugar mice that immediately escaped from the box and spread across the room from the Weasley twins. No comment on that. 

New riding gloves from Minerva – the brand was the most expensive one Liz knew. Not that she didn’t appreciate the present, especially as she needed new gloves right now, but couldn’t she have bought cheaper ones? 

And finally… no scarf from Miranda. No cloak or coat either. Nothing to wear at all. Instead, the _bestest sister in the world_ had sent her several bars of chocolate – _To the genius witch who calls herself my sister_. It was really expensive chocolate from Europe, with a high amount of cocoa, but still. Liz frowned when she opened this particular box. “I’m asking for a scarf, and you give me chocolate?” she murmured to herself. “I mean, that’s nice, but… Dude, I’m practically working at the kitchen. Why you’re sending me food?” 

* * *

Harry put on the emerald sweater that Mrs Weasley had sent him and followed the Weasleys out of the dormitory, wondering how Liz would spend the day. He knew she was friends with Fred and George, who had just told Percy to spend Christmas with his family. Family also was Liz’s first priority although she didn’t have much of it herself – only Professor McGonagall and her sister, but he hadn’t seen the latter in ages, so it would just be Liz and her mum. Most of the teachers had stayed at Hogwarts, but Harry refused to think Liz would treat all of them as close relatives. They were teachers, after all! And Liz was in detention every single evening! 

“Hey, guys!” Liz exclaimed enthusiastically when they entered the Great Hall. It was obvious how she demonstratively didn’t look at Harry but couldn’t wholly ignore him because he was part of the group. “You got new Christmas sweaters, I see!” Liz herself was wearing a pullover that looked like it was made from spare bits of wool, very colourful and… strange. It looked even worse than the worst of Ron’s hand-me-down clothes. “One wouldn’t believe it, but I got a Christmas sweater, too! And hey, I made it myself because my family is just too busy for knitting! Well,” she said, not noticing how guilty Minerva looked, “that’s life, I guess. If you wanna get new clothes, you gotta work for it. Oh, and thanks for the mice. You don’t expect a thank-you letter, do you?” 

Before one of them had a chance to answer, Liz was pulled away by Madam Hooch, who put a small twig of ilex into her hair. Harry didn’t watch Liz all the time for he had much better things to do, such as eating and wondering about the magic Christmas crackers. Nevertheless, he saw her sitting at the teachers’ table, bringing wine, making jokes all the time – she seemed to really, really like Christmas. Once Harry even caught a glimpse of Snape laughing. Snape was able to laugh? Well, this was… strange. It was impossible to find a joke that was funny enough to make him smile, so _what on earth_ had happened? Harry was not completely sure if he really wanted to know. 


	11. The family-glass

“You don’t expect a thank-you letter, do you?” 

Before one of the twins could answer, Madam Hooch entered the Great Hall. “Hey, Liz!” 

“Hey, Ma’am,” Liz responded, turning away from the Weasleys and Harry. 

“Turn around,” the Flying teacher commanded. 

“Uh, okay…” She turned around hesitantly, only to find Madam Hooch pulling the ribbon from her hair and tying it again. “That’s all?” 

“Yes, I’m done,” Madam Hooch smiled. “Now you really look Christmassy.” 

Liz gave her a weird look, making a few scholars as well as teachers laugh at her. Then she headed straight towards Snape, who hadn’t showed any reaction and slammed her hands on the table in front of his nose. “Am I a joke to you?” 

Snape looked at her calmly. “You’re wearing the ugliest pullover I’ve ever seen, letting Madam Hooch do your hair and losing your mind because of a Christian holiday. So yes, you do look kind of ridiculous to me.” 

“Look who’s talking,” Liz said ironically. “I’m terribly sorry I forgot how much you care about clothing and hairstyle. By the way, I am Christian indeed, so… Anyway, I know you’re joking. Do you want to eat or tell me a story first? Or do you do both at the same time?” 

“I’ll do it right now,” Snape told her resigned, reaching for his fork. “And for the last time, girl,” he growled when Liz put her elbows on the table and propped her chin into her hands, “ _get yourself a chair!_ ” 

As soon as Liz had dragged a chair from a classroom and taken a seat at the teachers’ table, Snape’s expression softened. “Alright,” he said in a tone that was reserved for Liz – and sometimes for Minerva, when he was really, really drunk or Minerva was in a really, really bad mood. “Which story do you want to hear?” 

“Can you tell me about your schooldays?” Liz cocked her head to one side. “About Minerva? Please!” 

Snape sighed. “I already told you the story last year, and the year before last year, and the year before. Do you really want to hear it again?” 

“Last year you skipped all the interesting details!” Liz complained. “And the years before I was too young to understand them.” 

“Honestly, I think you’re still too young to be told all the interesting details.” 

“So what? I’ve seen people being cruciated, thanks to our headmaster. I’ve seen the ugly face of the guy who once was Tom Riddle. Nothing could be worse than that.” 

Snape did not know what to reply to that. “Well,” he said. “Minerva. When I met her on the train, she was a third year. We all know how annoying third years can be, and most of the time they don’t even know. I won’t pretend Minerva was not as annoying as all the others – she was an average scholar in every respect. She didn’t stand out, and I was wondering why everyone seemed to know her.” 

“Until the first Quidditch match,” Liz said. 

“Until the first Quidditch match. That year she was playing as a seeker – not brilliant, but good enough to let Gryffindor win a few times. The next year, James I-am-the-greatest Potter became their seeker and, you know, people tend to think of the seeker as the sexiest position of all. Minerva had not even been a good seeker, compared to quite everyone else who was playing for the team, but she had been a seeker, and that seemed to be everything that counted. Your mum was a celebrity, you know?” 

“Course I do.” 

“Not that she wasn’t any more. Unfortunately, none of us dared to fall for her – we knew how cruel she could be, especially when she became a Prefect.” 

“That’s not how it works, Severus. Besides, I am not cruel.” Minerva walked past and took a seat next to Snape. 

“Not how what works?” 

“Falling for someone.” 

Snape threw her a glance. “Yeah, _you_ should know about that,” he said sarcastically. 

Minerva smiled innocently. “It’s not a secret that unicorns don’t like me.” 

“But you do realise there’s no law of nature that forces a unicorn to like you just because you’re leading a lonely life, _Quidditch Champion?_ ” 

“I assume you’re talking about your own experience, _Master of Potions?_ ” 

As the two of them stared at each other, trying to figure out how to go on, Liz suddenly started to laugh. 

“Liz!” Minerva gave her something that was meant to be a death stare. “That’s not funny!” 

“No, it’s not funny… but… but…” She was laughing so hard she couldn’t finish her sentence. “I know I shouldn’t laugh,” Liz finally managed to say, “but I was just thinking about… how Miri almost killed herself… by walking into a group of unicorns…” Then she was busy not falling from her chair in a fit of giggles. 

“How old was she back then, fifteen? And you still recall that day?” Now Snape started to laugh, too. 

Minerva could only shake her head at him. “At least I know Miranda hates you for a reason.” 

* * *

In the afternoon, Minerva told Liz she was going to visit her relatives. “I assume you don’t fancy to join me?” 

“Am I out of my mind? Not in a lifetime!” Liz had been forced to see Minerva’s relatives when she had been too little to be looked after by the other staff, and the McGonagalls had been so mean that she had decided to sleep most of the day. To them, she was not Liz, Elizabeth or Miss North, only _the girl Minerva adopted_. Minerva’s family seemed to think Minerva was too young or too inexperienced or just too dumb to be a mum, especially as she had never been married, and they kept dropping nasty comments about _everything_. Minerva had always dressed her daughter in the best clothes she had owned at that time and braided her hair more accurate than actually necessary, but even then they commented at Liz’s pale face and her chronic illness (which had nothing to do with each other – some of the McGonagalls probably didn’t even know what lycantrophy meant), at how Liz behaved too mature for her age (because she did not know anyone and didn’t want to play with the other kids), and of course at how Minerva didn’t know what she was doing, but she was not the one to blame because she was just a little dumb and loved children. Liz would have joined Minerva and showed her family how wrong they were, but now she was too old to sleep all day and she definitely wouldn’t survive a whole day with the McGonagalls awake. 

“Could you get all the stuff you need to your dormitory? I’d like to lock the office as long as I’m away.” 

“Yeah, sure. When do you get back?” 

“I don’t know yet, but I’m planning on staying a few days, not more than a week. Oh, and Liz? If there are any… health problems, you know – such as period cramps or headache – you go to the infirmary immediately. Got it?” 

“Come on, just because I’m chronically ill it doesn’t mean I got health problems.” 

“Your sister used to have loads of them at your age…” 

“Am I my sister?” 

At night, Liz didn’t have difficulties falling asleep in the empty dormitory as she had slept there already before Christmas. 

The next day and night, she kept telling herself that she didn’t bother if Snape was brewing all day, wishing not to be disturbed, and Minerva was not at home at all. 

The day after, she wrote a letter to Miranda, trying to distract herself from getting kind of homesick while she was home alone – alone with enough pupils and teachers to be annoyed, but without the two people who officially were her family and the man who should have been. 

When the third night to spend alone begun, Liz decided she couldn’t take this any further. She definitely needed to pay the Mirror of Erised a visit. 

* * *

Only a few minutes past curfew, when all the scholars had gone to their dormitories but the teachers hadn’t started doing their rounds yet, Liz sneaked out of the common room. She was wearing her coat and thick socks against the cold, carrying her ballet shoes in one hand to be as quiet as possible. She walked quickly without running, carefully looking around every corner before she went on. No doubt she could have been faster if she had wanted to, but why would she take the risk of getting caught? No matter how much time she lost, she would still have plenty of it left. She could have half a night in front of the Mirror if she needed it. (Which would be ridiculous. Why sacrifice several hours of sleep to staring at a looking glass like the last imbecile idiot?) 

Liz had barely closed the door of the classroom when she heard someone run down the corridor. Whoever was running out there, they didn’t put much effort in being quiet and it sounded like they knew exactly where they wanted to go – to Liz’s classroom, strictly speaking. Suddenly in a hurry, Liz put her shoes on and tried to hide in a corner of the room, so far away from the Mirror that the guy on the corridor hopefully wouldn’t even look there. 

When she had just taken a seat on a table, the door opened and… no one came in and… the door closed again. Only a second later, she incredulous watched Harry taking off an invisibility cloak and sitting down on the floor in front of the Mirror of Erised. (Okay, it looked like _he_ was the last imbecile idiot.) Liz let him a few moments to admire what he saw in the glass – his parents, most likely – before she said quietly: “You found the family-glass.” 

Harry immediately straightened up and looked around the room hastily. 

Liz snickered as she slid from the table. “Scared, Potter?” 

Harry was smart enough not to answer. 

“That’s the Mirror of Erised I told you about. Do you know why I call it a family-glass?” 

He didn’t. 

“It’s a looking glass that shows your family. In fact, it shows their family to almost everyone I know.” She noticed how he frowned at the word ‘looking glass’. “A looking glass is a mirror,” she told him casually. “Just in case you didn’t know.” She walked over to Harry. Now that they were both standing in front of the Mirror, they both couldn't see their heart desire, only themselves. _“Fascinating,”_ Liz hissed. _“Fascinating how this kind of stuff works.”_

Harry gave her a surprised look. “You know how it works?” 

“Sure I know.” She switched from Parsel to the most mysterious voice she could manage. “So, you’re standing in front of that Mirror and you see, uh, let’s just say you see a redhead and a guy who looks like you. And when my sister is standing where you stand right now, she sees two bloody idiots who don’t know nothing ‘bout birth control and even less about decency. And when Ron is standing here, he sees himself as the guy who won the Quidditch cup. But all those people only exist behind the glass, and if one of them happens to exist in real life…” She lowered her voice. “…they just disappear. Vanish into smoke. And no one can see them behind the glass ever again.” 

“Smoke?” 

“Yeah, smoke.” 

“Doesn’t sound convincing.” 

Liz gave him an annoyed look. “It sounded very convincing when I was six years old! Now, if you’re done with destroying my dreams, at least get out of my way.” 

She shoved Harry away from her, curious what the Mirror would show to her. The last time, it had showed Minerva, playing with her wedding ring while taking a walk in the Forbidden Forest, and Liz walking next to her, wearing a new dress that fit her properly and marvelling at the full moon. 

This time, there was no full moon or forest behind the glass – there was no nature at all. Instead, the fog in the Mirror shaped a corner in the Great Hall… then Minerva, hair pulled back by a clasp that kept getting out of place and already wearing her muggle coat… and Snape, putting his arm around her and making one of his jokes. Next to them, Liz saw herself – wearing trainers with the world’s dirtiest shoelaces, jeans with several patches, Miri’s old T-shirt that she had cut a few inches along the side seam and tied to a knot in order to make it fit her, and curiously watching the scene. 

At first, Liz was confused – the same scene had happened only last summer. Every detail was right, except for… Liz in front of the Mirror smiled when she noticed something shiny on the professors’ ring fingers. Liz behind the glass grinned at her older self as she kneeled down to tie her shoelaces. Then Snape said something about Wolfsbane, and Minerva replied something about the Leaky Cauldron, and then they parted. Snape went to the dungeons, Minerva and Liz headed for Hogsmeade – the Mirror only showed them vanishing into smoke, but Liz remembered how the scene had continued. 

“Funny,” Liz said when the magic effects were over and the Mirror of Erised showed nothing but herself in the dark classroom. She stepped away from the glass to let Harry catch a further look at his family. “Last time, I wished for health and money.” 

“Last time? What do you see now?” 

“Same thing as you do.” She didn’t allow her face to show any sign of emotion. “My parents, married happily ever after.” 

“Parents? But I thought you…” 

Liz didn’t let him finish his sentence. “Parents are people who do your parenting, right?” She opened the door quietly, and the next moment she was gone. 


	12. Another Family Chapter

The next day, Minerva returned. Liz was just sitting in the Great Hall and losing a game of chess against Snape when her mum came in. 

“Good to have you back,” Snape mumbled and watched Liz attacking one of his pawns. “This young lady’s been losing every game in an eternity.” 

Minerva walked up to them and stood beside the table where they had set up the chess board. “I must admit, seeing my family was nice, but I did miss my colleagues.” 

Liz looked at her sceptically while Snape made his next move. “Colleagues, huh?” 

“My colleagues and my girls, of course. It was a good decision of yours to stay at Hogwarts, though.” 

“Why, did they comment on my health again?” 

“Look after your knight,” Snape interrupted her. “Just saying.” 

“I _am_ looking after my knight! Did they, Minerva?” Liz tried to save her knight, but the next moment it was gone. 

“Amongst others. They asked if you had a boyfriend, too.” 

“What kind of a twelve-year-old has a boyfriend?” Liz made a useless move with her king. “Even my sister had her first… _liaison_ ” – she pronounced it French – “at the age of thirteen. I hope you told them that I fully concentrated on schoolwork.” 

“Which would be a bold lie – but yes, I did.” Minerva turned to leave the Great Hall and bring her suitcase to her flat but stopped again after a few meters. 

“Did you forget something?” Snape asked hypocritically and checkmated Liz’s king. 

Annoyed, Minerva looked up to the ceiling and found that she was stuck beneath a mistletoe. “Why are those mistletoes still hanging there?” she grumbled. “I thought they had to be removed by now!” 

“Since you were the one to put them up, we thought you’d be the one to get rid of them as well.” Snape kicked Liz under the table. “Come on, go and free your mum.” 

“I’m not your house elf!” she contradicted. “Why don’t you free her yourself? Don’t pretend you never kissed her before!” 

“Mistletoes, Liz. I don’t need to lose my reputation.” 

“Oh, but I do?!” 

While they were still fighting, Madam Hooch approached Minerva and they kissed – not like colleagues who were caught beneath a mistletoe, though. More like teenagers meeting in the Forbidden Forest. 

“Well, okay, we all know that’s not what the mistletoe requests,” Liz said as she watched them, eyebrows raised in confusion. 

Snape, on the opposite, looked rather amused than confused. “We all know Hooch, don’t we.” 

“True.” Liz turned back towards the chess board to see whether she could save her king once again. When Snape noticed, he grabbed the potions book next to him and thumped Liz’s head with it – not so hard it would actually hurt her, but hard enough for her to notice something was wrong. 

“Ouch!” Liz demonstratively rubbed the top of her head. “What was _that_ for?” 

“Checkmate.” Snape pointed to the chess board. “Even if you can’t play chess, you should notice when you’re checkmated.” 

“Yeah. What do you mean, I can’t play chess? Don’t you see how much I can?” 

“I never said you couldn't – well, on the other hand, you really can’t play. Look, you can defend yourself as long as you want; if you don’t attack, it won’t change a thing. You’ve got to learn how to attack others, otherwise you’ll end like Quirrell.” 

“So, you’re basically telling me Quirrell can’t play chess.” 

“I’m telling you Quirrell is weaker than a Defence teacher should be. If I pulled my wand, he wouldn’t dare attack me. There’s a reason why it’s called Defence Against The Dark Arts, but situations may occur where defending yourself isn’t enough. If you want to go down in history, you can’t stick to Defence forever.” 

Liz thought about this for a moment. Then she asked: “Who told you I want to go down in history?” 

Snape sighed. “Being the first child raised at Hogwarts _and_ one of the heirs of Slytherin _and_ a born lycantrophile, you’re going to be in the history books anyway, whether you like it or not. But if you keep playing like this, you’re not getting anywhere.” 

“Uh… whatever.” Liz stood up and walked over to Harry, who had been waiting by the Gryffindor table and watching them nervously. “Potter, why you’re staring at me like you want to ask me out?” 

* * *

Harry had been sitting in the Great Hall for ages, watching Liz playing chess with Snape and considering if he should talk to her or not. Their meeting last night had raised a lot of questions, and he was anything but sure how Liz would react if he asked them. 

Just when he had decided he would wait for a better occasion, Liz took the decision out of his hands. “Potter, why you’re staring at me like you want to ask me out?” 

Harry knew she was only a year older than him – nonetheless, she looked so bored that he thought she was at least fourteen. “Er, the Mirror of Erised…” 

“… is a looking glass,” she finished his sentence. 

“Yes. And I’ve got, um…” 

“… a few questions you’d like to ask.” 

Harry nodded. 

“Fine.” Liz hesitated for a moment, then she asked: “Do you mind if we go outside?” 

When they had got their scarves and gloves and were walking around the frozen lake, she said: “Now we can talk. What’s your first question?” 

“Why do we have to go outside to talk?” 

Liz smiled sheepishly. “You know… talking about the Mirror of Erised is a rather personal thing. And you can’t talk about secrets in the castle, it always feels like the walls have ears.” 

“It’s because of the portraits,” Harry told her. “Probably.” 

“Yeah, probably. Next question?” 

It sounded like an interrogation rather than a normal conversation between two classmates, but Harry figured he could be glad that Liz was talking to him at all. 

“Yesterday you said that last time you had wished for health – have you been ill earlier?” He must have hit the mark exactly, at least Liz took a deep breath and let it out again before she answered. 

“I… I’ll tell you, but if you pass it on to anyone, I’m going to find out, and then you’re _dead._ Got it?” 

“I think so.” 

“Okay.” She took another deep breath. “I am… suffering of some kind of chronic illness. Most of the time, it doesn’t affect me much, but sometimes I have to take… medicine so it doesn’t get worse. Snape’s making the potions for me.” 

“Snape?” 

“Yeah, Snape. Is that a problem to you?” 

“No, it’s only because you’re talking so quietly. I wasn’t sure I got the name right. Why do you want to keep your illness a secret? It’s not your fault, is it?” 

Liz gritted her teeth. “When I told my classmates at primary school, they were like: ‘Oh, do you want pity now? Do you feel like something special just because you’re ill?’ But I just wanted them to understand why I was so tired sometimes and that it was not my fault if I couldn't get sleep all night. And I really don’t need to hear that again, especially not at home at Hogwarts.” 

At home at Hogwarts. Suddenly, it all made sense. Liz knew the Mirror of Erised so well because it had been part of her childhood, and she didn’t like her classmates that she hadn’t known before because they were invading her home and forcing her to spend time with them, and she couldn't ask Snape about their kind of relationship because, if he told her she was just another scholar for him, she would still have to see him on a regular basis and that would hurt way too much. It was really easy if one knew the background. 

“And when you said you’d see your parents, you meant…” 

“Are you really asking that question?” Liz asked sharply, and it sounded like: ‘Are you really more dimwitted than I thought you were?’ 

“Er, no, sorry. Silly question. Do you know what Dumbledore sees when he looks into the Mirror? He told me he’d see himself with a pair of socks, but that can’t be the truth, right?” 

“I gave him a pair of socks for Christmas,” Liz muttered. 

“Then what does he see? What is his heart desire?” 

When she looked at him, her face was blank. “It’s a family-glass.” 

“That’s no answer to my question.” 

“I didn’t say it was an answer. I’m just saying it’s a family-glass.” Before Harry could ask another question, she turned on her heel and rushed back to the castle. 

* * *

Three days later, Miranda returned from – wherever she had been. And of course, she didn’t bother to mention where and how she had spent her holidays. She didn’t come to the Great Hall to tell anyone she was back, neither did she look after the ponies first or stop at the kitchen. Instead, when Liz came to Minerva’s flat in the afternoon, she was lying on the bed and flicking through a fashion magazine like she had always been there. 

“Hey, girls!” Minerva stumbled into the office, pulling the pins from her hair while walking, collapsed on her bed and rested her feet on the bedside table. “Who wants to go to London tonight?” 

Miri sat up and leant against the headboard of the girls’ bed. “Why do we even pretend you’re sober.” 

Liz, who was sitting at the foot of their bed, closed her Herbology book. “You’re wrong, Miri. We don’t pretend anything. Minerva, your rule about ‘no feet on the table’ applies to you, too!” 

“Calm down, Lizzie. That’s my flat, my furniture, and I put my feet wherever I like. So, what about London?” 

Liz shrugged her shoulders. “Yeah, why not. What’s your opinion?” She looked at Miri, who demonstratively slowly turned a page of her magazine. 

“Mmh… let me think. Is that snobbish dungeons dork going to accompany you?” 

“Maybe?” Minerva replied provokingly. “Does that make a difference?” 

“Nah… I’m staying here anyway. London’s boring.” 

Liz threw a pillow at her. “Your face is boring!” 

Miri caught the pillow without effort. “That’s what boys like about me. Makes it easier to focus on my cleavage.” Liz snickered while Minerva rolled her eyes and muttered something like “You’re impossible.” Miri ignored both of them and went on: “There’s exactly one place in the world where New Year’s Eve is not as boring as in London, and that’s…” 

“… the Hogwarts staff room.” Minerva yawned. “Staff room parties are the best of all, but I’d like to go out as long as I can… somehow I’ve got the feeling either Liz or Harry are going to keep us all busy by this time next year. Give them another year, and I’ll never get out of this castle again.” 

Miri frowned. “No, I was going to say Hogsmeade. New Year’s Eve at Hogsmeade is… well, let’s just say Hogsmeade parties are pretty nice.” 

“Sounds like you’ve never been at one,” Minerva commented with her eyes closed. “They’re actually quite legendary. Only exceeded by staff room parties and staff parties at the Three Broomsticks.” 

Liz groaned and walked over to the wardrobe. “Somehow I can’t help the feeling teaching is more like twenty per cent lessons, twenty per cent marking and sixty per cent drinking.” 

“Damn, you found my secret,” Minerva murmured sleepily. “No, seriously, it’s a hard job. Can you wake me up before dinner?” 

* * *

Before dinner, Professor Dumbledore announced that the few present scholars were allowed to have New Year’s parties at their common rooms, but there would not be fireworks at Hogwarts or an alteration of curfew. Liz sat between the Weasleys, who excitedly told her what they had been planning for their party, and she almost felt sorry when she told them she was going to see the fireworks at London. “But you don’t really miss much if you don’t go there,” she assured them quickly. “It’s hardly possible to get a good sight on the fireworks, and I heard there’s free ice skating at Hyde Park, but I don’t have skates. Besides, our lake at Hogwarts is frozen solid, you could skate there as well.” 

“Then why don’t you come to our party? We have fireworks ourselves, and I can assure you that you’re going to get a good sight on them!” 

“Can you imagine telling your mum you’re not going to accompany her after you already promised you would? Doesn’t sound like a real option, does it?” 

“That’s really a shame. But next time when we have a party…” 

“… I’ll be there. Promise.” 

When dinner was over, Liz went back to Minerva’s flat where she helped Miri pick a pair of shoes for the Hogsmeade party (although it wouldn’t start until 10 pm) and Miri gave her some useful advice in return (“Wear nylon tights under your thick woollen tights, that’s warmer. And no one will recognise your Gryffindor scarf”). Despite possessing loads of colourful second-hand clothing, Liz ended up wearing grey tights, black boots, a black dress and a black sweater – Miri insisted on braiding Liz’s hair with a glittery ribbon, but that didn’t change a thing. She still looked like a Dementor in a hand-me-down coat. 

Meanwhile, Minerva was standing in the staff room and looking for someone who would join her. “Hands up, who is spontaneous enough to go out with me tonight?” The response was not exactly what she had expected. Most of her colleagues didn’t even bother to look up from their books and magazines, some were muttering excuses. No single hand was raised. 

Remarkably slowly, Severus sauntered across the room and over to her. “Why do you keep looking at me?” 

“I can look somewhere else, if you want.” 

He didn’t go into it. “Assuming I’ll go out with you – where do we go?” 

“I was thinking about London – Hyde Park, I guess.” 

“So, a walk in the park is what you call ‘going out’?” The corners of his mouth twitched. “Am I right in thinking you’re going to take Liz with you?” 

Minerva raised her arms helplessly. “What else could I do? If I let her go to the Gryffindors’ party while I’m at London, they’re going to burn the house down!” 

Severus only raised his eyebrows as though he didn’t believe her. 

“Never mind,” she groaned finally. “Don’t strain yourself. I’ll make this a mum-and-daughter-holiday and tolerate all the pitying glances one gets as a single mum while my other daughter is partying herself to death in Hogsmeade.” Visibly annoyed, she left the room without making sure that Severus had noticed her sarcastic undertone. 

“Looks like it’s just the two of us,” Minerva told Liz when she was back in her flat. “I asked everyone from the staff. Apparently, they prefer sitting around all evening. I thought at least Severus and Aurora would like to get out of here, but Severus thinks it’s ridiculous to take you with me and Aurora doesn’t like fireworks.” 

“He thinks I’m _ridiculous?_ ” Liz, who was sitting on the sofa in the office, pulled one knee to her chest and rested her head on it. If Minerva hadn’t been rummaging around in her wardrobe, she had been able to notice how hurt her daughter looked. “That’s not nice.” 

At the same time, Miri came out of the bathroom. “Minerva, can I borrow your green blouse for tonight?” 

“No, he thinks _I’m_ ridiculous.” 

Liz pulled her second foot up and covered her knees with her skirt. “That’s not nice either.” 

“First, I’m gonna wear this blouse myself, so no, you can’t. Second, you’ve got one yourself, why don’t you take that?” Minerva tossed a turquoise blouse over to Miri. “Why on earth does it feel like I don’t possess a single pair of jeans that is not completely frayed at the seams?” 

“For whom are you dressing up – I think Snape’s not coming?” 

“But that’s not green,” Miri complained. “It’s more… blueish. Blue doesn’t fit my trousers!” She desperately pointed at the red flowers on her jeans. 

“At least you _have_ some trousers to wear out in the streets.” Minerva flicked her wand and turned the red sequins into silver ones, which made Miri sigh in relief. “I’m dressing up for my goddamn self, Liz. If I’m going to look like a single mum…” 

“You _are_ a single mum.” 

“Not in the traditional sense of the word.” Finally, Minerva had found a pair of jeans that were not completely frayed. “It’s not like, my ex broke up with me because I was pregnant, and so I raised the child without his help, and I don’t need no men because I’m all fighting on my own! Nor is it like, well, my husband left me for a young Spanish teacher, and yes, I do have children, but I found that I can’t exist without a man, so, here am I, who wants me?” She closed the last buttons of her blouse and then undid the bun she had rearranged for dinner. Walking over to the bathroom, she asked: “Liz, can you look for my hair clasp? I don’t quite remember where I left it.” 

“Sure, which one do you want?” 

“The green, shiny one – you know, the one that looks pearlescent. It’s the clasp which has the best fastener.” 

Miri leant a mirror against the biscuit tin on Minerva’s desk and started to curl her hair with a straightener. “That’s an injustice that cries out to heaven,” she lamented. “Why do you have curls and I don’t?” 

“Believe me, curls are not better than no curls,” Minerva replied from the bathroom. “When I was your age, I hated them. One moment you look like the nice girl from next door, and the next you look like you’ve spent ten years in Azkaban.” 

“I’ve got good news and bad news,” Liz announced. “The good news is, your clasp is not in the whisky closet and not in your bedside table. The bad news is, I don’t know where it is.” 

“Can you look on the bookshelf?” Minerva tugged on the comb that had got tangled up in her hair. 

In fact, Liz could not look on the bookshelf because she was too short. She didn’t really feel like taking her shoes off and climbing onto a chair, so she looked everywhere else first. While she checked every drawer, shook out the blankets and turned the mattresses, Miri sensed the top of the bookshelf. They found not less than three different hair clasps, each one beautiful but not green and pearlescent. 

“Can’t you take the Celtic one with that long needle?” Miri tried to persuade Minerva. “It looks quite stable to me.” 

“Or that bronze art nouveau dragonfly… thing?” Liz followed. “And if that’s not an option, could you agree with… um… this one?” 

Minerva only looked at them for a second, then she shook her head and went on combing her hair. “The Celtic one is far too loose; it would be gone before I even left the castle. The fastener of the art nouveau clasp doesn’t work properly, and… _this one_ is a Holyhead Harpies clip. God, I don’t even know where I got that from. And I’m not going to wear it in the middle of a muggle town!” 

“Oh, pull yourself together! You own approximately four hundred and seventy-three hair clasps, why can’t you just choose one of the remaining four hundred and seventy-two?” 

“Because they’re not what I need!” 

Shrugging her shoulders, Miri went back to her straightener. “Looks like no one could help you.” While Minerva forced her feet into high-heeled shoes, Liz turned every single pocket inside out, no matter to whose clothing it belonged – only to find a few hairpins, but no clasp. 

“Okay guys, I’m outta here!” Miri tossed the straightener onto her bed and reached for her coat. “Don’t be such a square and take the Harpies – hey! Would you kindly watch your step, old man!” 

“Miranda, _please!_ ” Minerva rushed into her office to find her daughter had crashed into Severus. 

“I was wondering what’s taking you so long,” he said casually. “New Year’s Eve is only tonight, you know?” 

While Minerva was still at a loss for words, he pulled a green, shiny hair clasp out of his pocket. “That’s your clasp, isn’t it? Hooch said she’d found it at the broom closet. Do we really want to know how it got there?” 

“You’re impossible,” she said when she had found her words. “Don’t ever do this again, okay?” She took the clasp out of his hand and neatly pinned the strands of hair that kept getting into her face to the back of her head. 

“Why, I’m just winding you up about your evening program!” 

“Today it’s my evening program, next time it’s something important.” She summoned her coat and her keys, then let her wand disappear in a drawer of her desk. “Let’s go now.” 

* * *

They walked to Hogsmeade in silence. After a stop at the Hogshead – Minerva had to tell Aberforth she would pay for a room in case Miri would ask for one – the Deputy Headmistress apparated them to a gloomy lane in London, near the Thames, with no muggles around. 

For what seemed like an eternity, they walked along the Thames, apparently aimless. Minerva locked arms with Snape, and Liz had liked to take her mum’s free hand, but she didn’t want to disturb the professors pretending she was not there. (At least it felt like they were pretending it.) 

Somewhen, Minerva stopped in front of a restaurant to study the menu that was pinned up outside – although they all had had dinner already and it was far too expensive anyway. Snape took her hair in his hands and examined it in the light of the streetlamps. “New conditioner?” 

Minerva laughed. “Stop getting in my hair.” 

“As you wish, madam.” Instead, he put his arm around her waist. “Shall we get a drink somewhere?” 

“You’ve got money with you?” 

“You don’t? Liz, do you mind if I try to get us a drink?” 

He probably didn’t mean it as a real question, but Liz decided to answer anyway. “We’re talking about one drink, right?” 

“One or two, depending on the price.” 

Liz looked at Minerva. “It’s just… single mums shouldn’t be drunk,” she said uncomfortably. “Especially if their children don’t know how to get home on their own. I can’t just apparate to Hogsmeade in case I need to.” 

“If I had to choose between ‘not drunk’ and ‘not a single mum’, I’d take ‘not a single mum’,” Minerva muttered, but she was smiling. 

Snape made a throw-away gesture. “At a pinch, you can still walk to the Ministry and ask Lucius to bring you home.” 

For none of them had skates, they didn’t go to Hyde Park at all, and as Liz had predicted, they also didn’t get a proper view on the fireworks. Snape made a joke about how they could be dancing on a rooftop if Liz had stayed at Hogwarts and they had five hundred pounds each, and Minerva got annoyed about how it was impossible to find a pub that was not overcrowded past 12 pm, but surprisingly they didn’t end up fighting. When Liz went to bed at quarter past one, she didn’t regret missing the Gryffindor party at all.


	13. Priorities

Liz didn’t have to wait for long until the next Gryffindor party took place. The next Quidditch match, Gryffindor against Hufflepuff, meant an easy victory for Gryffindor – even though Snape had been the referee. Liz had refused to watch or listen to the match in any kind because she didn’t want to know about Snape’s (undoubtedly unfair) decisions. Sure, she would hear about them from the others, but by then she would be able to say: “I don’t say you’re lying, but I didn’t see or hear it myself and I refuse to weigh in an opinion on it.” This way would be the only possibility of handling the situation since she really could not use a feud between the two head teachers. When she had asked Snape why he so desperately wanted to be the referee, he had only replied: “Remember that Quirrell issue I told you about?” and rushed off. Obviously, the fact that he didn’t like flying didn’t mean he wouldn’t do it if he thought it necessary. 

Anyway, Gryffindor won the match and there was a party in the common room, which Liz didn’t dare stay away from. This party was more focused on eating, drinking and discussing the Quidditch match than on music, dancing or anything Liz could take part in, so she spent most of the evening sitting in a corner, eating and thinking about Snape’s words. 

_Remember that Quirrell issue I told you about?_ What issue did he mean? That Quirrell was bad at chess? Letting her mind flow freely, which promised to get the most interesting findings, she didn’t have to wait for the epiphany all too long. The flash of insight was like follows: Quirrell was weak, and he was working for some Master whom he had to obey because he didn’t dare attack people that looked like they were able to defend themselves. This Master had told Quirrell to hex Harry’s broomstick, and if Snape was the referee, Quirrell would not do it again because in the very moment of hexing it, Snape would be a greater harassment for him than his Master. All this didn’t make much sense because Quirrell was actually trying to get the You-Know-What on third floor and Harry didn’t even suspect it, but life rarely made sense. Besides, the Master must have been really desperate if he had chosen Quirrell of all weak wizards. 

A few minutes later, Liz arrived at the conclusion that the You-Know-What must be the Philosopher’s Stone or something similar – nothing else than never-ending gold and lifetime could make someone desperate enough to use Quirrell for their purposes; and Professor Dumbledore had been talking to Nicholas Flamel in the summer holidays. The latter, of course, didn’t mean anything, but still it was a matter of fact. 

The next day, Liz happened to be one of the last scholars to leave Professor Quirrell’s classroom before break, together with Harry and Ron. Hermione had already rushed off to spend as much time as possible at the library – at least that was what Liz supposed. As she stuffed the last piece of parchment into her pocket, an owl landed on her desk. 

“Mi-mi-miss,” Professor Quirrell said, sounding almost frightened and pointing his trembling finger at the owl. He didn’t say her name – he hardly ever used names if he could avoid it. Apparently, he knew all too well how it would slow him down if he had to say one or two more words. “You-you’ve got a l-l-l…” 

“Letter,” Liz interrupted him, snatching the envelope from the bird’s beak. “Indeed, I noticed. Really, Professor, you and your turban make every room nicer…” 

“R-re-really?” 

“… the very moment you leave.” She nodded in Harry’s and Ron’s direction. “Let’s get out of here, we’re gonna have the best lunch in a decade.” 

Harry did have difficulties catching up with his friend and Liz, who were both taller than him. “How can you know what’s for lunch, you haven’t been to the kitchen all day!” 

“Use your brain, Potter. You slept until 7.30, I’ve been to the kitchen before you were even awake.” Liz used her wand as a paper knife and pulled the parchment from the envelope. 

_Dear Liz,_

_I would like you to come to my office tonight after dinner. The lesson we are going to discuss is_ _Priorities._ _Minerva set up strict rules for the use of old memories, but I think we can do it as usual. Bring your Transfiguration book, but not your wand._

_Sincerely, Albus Dumbledore_

“It’s from Dumbledore,” Liz informed Ron, who tried to look over her shoulder. “Wants to teach me a lesson ‘bout priorities. God knows why he couldn’t wait until break.” 

“One of your priorities should definitely be not to offend people because they dress and talk different,” Ron threw in. 

Liz gave him a confused look. “My _mum_ dresses and talks different, you know. Oh, you talking ‘bout the squirrel? Believe me, that’s not why I’m winding him up.” 

* * *

“First things first,” Professor Dumbledore said when Liz was seated in front of his desk. 

She snickered. “Great introduction.” 

“Pardon?” 

“Saying ‘first things first’ when you want to talk about priorities. Hilarious.” 

“Um… yes. Lemon drop? I’m paying for the dentist, as always.” 

Liz reached for the paper bag on the desk. “That’s your first thing?” 

“First thing yes, first priority no. And that’s where we start our journey.” Professor Dumbledore put the pensieve onto his desk and turned it a few times to the left and to the right. “Here we are. Would you go first?” 

When Liz dived into the memory, she saw a young man who was adjusting his tie in the reflection of a shop window. When he was done, he walked over the marketplace to a fruit and veg stall. 

Professor Dumbledore appeared next to Liz. “Can you see what’s his first thing?” 

Liz frowned. “Uh, adjusting his tie?” 

“Right. And do you think that’s his first priority?” 

She shrugged. “Possibly. I mean, I don’t know him, but it’s possible. Otherwise… if he cared about his looks all the time, he’d do that at home.” 

“What else could it be?” 

“Doing the shopping, most likely. And asking the shop girl for a date – second priority, I guess. Stall girl. Veggie girl. Whatever.” 

“What if someone else would sell the vegetables? Or if the stall wasn’t there today?” 

“Buying his stuff somewhere else,” Liz replied. “Probably not looking for the veggie girl because she will be there again next week.” 

“Assuming he only pretends to do the shopping because he wants to see the girl. What would he do if she wasn’t there?” 

“Go home and feel stupid?” she guessed. “Nevertheless buy something to make him look a little less lost? Maybe ask someone about the veggie girl? Honestly, do we have to take a dating instance of all?” 

Professor Dumbledore emerged from the pensieve and pulled Liz with him. “Fine, this was a rather difficult task. Let’s try something else. So, if you woke up in the middle of nowhere and you had a mission to comply – what would you do first, and what would be your priorities?” 

Liz let out a breath and leant back in her chair. “Will I survive that mission?” 

“Let’s just say, you’re trying.” 

“Trying. Okay. I think my first priority would be family, second food and stuff, and third the mission itself. So, I would first look where to get food – even if I’m not hungry at that moment – whether I got money with me, where to get something to eat, do I need a winter coat or a place to sleep. Then I’d look for a public phone to call Miri, make sure everyone’s alright and so on – and find out where I am. I’d like to keep it as inconspicuous as possible, by the way. When I know where I am, in every sense of the word, I can focus on the mission.” 

The headmaster smiled contentedly. “Clever decision. But doesn’t it mean food is your first priority?” 

Liz raised her eyebrows. “That’s a catch question, isn’t it?” 

“Right. Can you explain why?” 

That was so typical. Any normal person would ask catch questions and be satisfied with either a wrong answer or the realisation that it hadn’t been a real question, but Professor Dumbledore wanted her to prove how well she understood what he was teaching her. 

“The order in which things are done has nothing to do with their importance,” she sighed wearily. “If I had to choose between _getting a sandwich right now and not seeing anyone of my family ever again_ or _talking to my family one last time and having to fight for my food later_ , why on earth would I choose the sandwich?” 

Professor Dumbledore put the pensieve back into the cupboard. “It looks like this lesson is going to take shorter than I expected.” 

“Does that mean I can go?” Liz was already fidgeting in her chair, which made the Transfiguration book on her lap slide to the floor. “After I learnt, like… nothing?” 

“Actually… no. Pick your book up, we’re about half through the lesson.” 

She made a disappointed face, then held her hand out above the book on the floor and summoned it with a wandless _Wingardium Leviosa_. “This lesson is as short as boring.” 

“Better than the other way round, right? Before we start this exercise, I’d like to know what your priorities in right this moment are and in which order you plan to do something about them.” 

“First, go to sleep. Second, get your lesson done. Third, finish my Potions essay for tomorrow. I’ll probably get the lesson done, then finish my essay and go to sleep only when I’m finished with everything else, but I am definitely going to go to sleep before I have to get up tomorrow.” 

“Fine. Try to commit that to your memory. Now, tell me, what do you need to regard for a transfiguration of any kind? You can use your book as well.” 

Liz sighed deeply before she started turning the pages of her book sluggishly. “You should have something to transfigure, and in the best case you know how you want to transfigure it, and it would be useful to know the spell… and then you focus on something, and make whatever movements with your wand, and you should take care of I-don’t-know-what to achieve God-knows-which results…” 

“That’s good,” Professor Dumbledore interrupted her. 

Liz raised her head hopefully. “Is it?” 

“No, it’s dreadful.” Liz’s forehead hit the surface of the desk. “What are your priorities now?” 

“First,” she mumbled against the desk, “make you stop with that Transfiguration nonsense. Second, walk out of your office and tell Minerva that she’s the best mum I could imagine but I hate her subject. Third, forget the essay and go to sleep. And I’m gonna do it in exactly this order.” 

Professor Dumbledore was delighted. “See?” 

“See what? How my life doesn’t make sense? Yeah, I’m starting to see that.” 

“Do you see how fast priorities can change?” 

“Yeah.” She raised her head again to look at him. “And for your information, I knew that before.” 

“Did you?” The headmaster seemed truly surprised. “I must admit, I underestimated your knowledge. Sure, you can also tell me how we avoid that change of priorities?” 

“By making someone else’s priorities our own? Professor, I’m tired, I’ve got lots of work for tonight and tomorrow morning, and I’m particularly not in the mood for your learning-by-thinking strategy. Just tell me your conclusion and dismiss me, will you?” 

She looked so desperate that Professor Dumbledore had to agree with her. “I will. As an exception. Priorities and the order in which you do things are not always the same. Priorities can change within seconds and endanger the mission you’re on, so before you do anything, you need to set your priorities and stick with them until you’re done. No matter what you’d like to do, no matter what your instinct tells you. Life is no adventure story; you can’t just stumble into something, drink tons of Felix Felicis and let your intuition do the rest. That has never worked and will never work in reality. Any questions left?” 

There were no questions. 

“You’re dismissed.” 

* * *

Liz’s mood didn’t improve after she had left the headmaster’s office but compared to Minerva’s mood it was good. Liz had to get her school bag from the dormitory, make sure the gate of the ponies’ barn was closed, go to the kitchen to discuss tomorrow’s menu, and write her Potions essay on Minerva’s desk while Miri was listening to music next door and Minerva probably sat in the staff room. When she returned, right after the essay was finished, Liz had to brush and braid her mum’s hair and ask how her day had been without a hint from anyone – she figured it belonged to her duties as a teacher’s daughter. 

Of course, she could also have ironed some of the clothes that had been in Minerva’s and her own suitcase while Minerva had visited her relatives and were still in there, or at least she could have handed them to the house elves, but Liz was too lazy to do things that no one had asked for. If everything had been up to her and she had to do it herself, she had not dried the dishes off after washing (they would dry themselves sooner or later), washed her clothes with cold water (too lazy to put the kettle on) and let all of them, including towels and her dressing gown, let dry on a washing line out in the sun (too lazy to mess around with a tumble dryer, no matter how unpleasant air-dried towels would feel). 


	14. Love, Life, Dragons

When Liz woke up around 11.30 pm, she didn’t think this night would be special. Professor Dumbledore’s last ‘special lesson’ had been an eternity ago – that tiring derangement about priorities that hadn’t taught her anything new – so it was not likely that something terribly unexpected, that the teachers wanted to prepare her to, would happen. Or at least not something that was unlikely but still expected by everyone with half a brain. 

Minerva switched the lights on when she got up for her shift of ‘doing rounds’, as the girls called it, which woke both of her daughters up. Normally, they would just blink, turn around and sleep on, since they’d had that for over a decade now. Tonight, Miri occupied Minerva’s now free bed and assured her sister that she could easily sleep with the lights on, while Liz somehow felt the need to study Transfiguration all night – unfortunately, she could not find any matches or small insects to practise on, so it had to be theory. Which helped Hermione achieving good marks at practical exercises, so it could not be too bad. 

From the beginning, Liz had not been sure whether her sister was really sleeping or just relaxing with her eyes closed – when she tried to memorise a paragraph and Miri corrected her, however, she shut her book and let out an annoyed puff of air. “Miri?” 

“Mmh?” 

“I know you’re awake.” 

“Well, if you say that…” 

Liz didn’t waste much time on an introduction. “Do you know much about love?” 

“Actually, I’m kind of an expert about love.” Miri sat up in Minerva’s bed. “Although I think you’re a little young to think about that.” 

Liz rolled her eyes. “I’m not talking ‘bout the physical stuff.” 

“Oh. Well… I’m not an expert at that, but I’d say I know a few things.” 

The younger sister brought her knees up to her chest. “The thing is… in novels and in love songs people always say they love everything about somebody. Like, every single detail.” 

“Yeah, that’s what falling in love is like.” 

Liz sighed. Falling was not exactly what bothered her, but loving and falling in love weren’t all that different, right? “I mean… I really love Minerva. I know I do. But then again, I hate all of her Transfiguration stuff, and I hate when she’s drunk, and I hate how she’s so picky about her hair clasps although she’s got, like, half a million of them…” 

“Not half a million. Only four hundred and seventy-three,” Miri joked. 

“… yeah, okay, four hundred and seventy-three of them, and I hate how she can’t ask for more money because _it has something to do with pride_ and on top of it all, she’s buying Saint Potter, and she hardly knows him, the most expensive broomstick of all, while I, her daughter, and she’s been knowing me for my whole life, have to wear a coat that was already old when _you_ wore it! And I think I can’t be the only one who hates stuff about people they love, so it can’t be completely wrong, but there’s nothing in the books or in the songs about it, so can it be right?” 

Miri laughed at her sister’s confused expression. “Liz… that’s a different kind of love.” 

Liz looked like she had been told that Hogsmeade was a French colony. “There are different kinds? God, why do feelings have to be so complicated?” 

“Look… there’s romantic love, which is connected to the physical stuff – that’s what all the songs are about. Forget that one, you don’t need it at the moment. Then there’s love for friends, because you just like to be with them, and sometimes there’s that indefinable kind of love for someone who does really much for you or for whom you feel responsible or whatever – I think that might describe your relationship with pretty much everyone around. And then there’s family love. You know, there are days when I curse your mere existence, but I still love you, because that’s what siblings do. You’d be surprised how many children out there love their parents, not because they’re as cool as your mum, but because that’s what children do.” 

Her lecture may have gone on, if not in that moment they had heard the door of the office creak. Immediately, both sisters got silent and moved closer towards the bedroom door – since the teachers’ offices and flats were originally made for a single person only, every word spoken in the office could be heard from the bedroom and the other way round. 

Miri peeked through the keyhole. “It’s Filch,” she whispered. “Looks like he’s bringing a bunch of first years.” 

Liz threw a glance to Minerva’s alarm clock. “Min’s shift is not over yet. They’ll have to wait a few minutes.” Which meant the girls had to stay in their position, too, if they didn’t want to be noticed. 

Miri grimaced. “Dammit.” 

When the digits of Minerva’s clock indicated 1 am, the door of the office opened and closed a second time. 

“Harry!” they heard Neville say, accompanied by steps that unmistakably belonged to Minerva. Liz grinned. “So we got Neville Longbottom and Harry Potter,” she whispered. “Great conditions, right?” 

“I would never have believed it of any of you,” Minerva begun her talk. Liz snorted. 

“Didn’t sound like that on New Year’s Eve,” Miri murmured. 

“Mr Filch says you were up in the astronomy tower. It’s one o’clock in the morning. _Explain yourselves._ ” 

None of the first years answered. 

“I think I’ve got a good idea of what’s been going on. It doesn’t take a genius to work it out. You fed Draco Malfoy some cock-and-bull story about a dragon –” 

“Doesn’t have to be all made up,” Liz hissed in French. If the other first years in the office would hear something, at least they wouldn’t recognise words. “Draco told me he’d seen a Norwegian Ridgeback at Hagrid‘s hut.” 

“But you didn’t see it yourself?” 

“Excuse me? Do you think I’ve got the time to go and ask Hagrid about his pet?” 

Their discussion didn’t last for long, though, because it had gotten suspiciously silent in the office. 

“I am disgusted,” Minerva claimed. “Four students out of bed in one night! I’ve never heard of such a thing before!” 

Miri grabbed a pillow to stop herself from laughing. “McGonagall, you liar!” she mouthed in Liz’s direction. Both girls knew the story of how Minerva had snook out as a Prefect to catch James Potter and his friends – Sirius Black had told it to Miri, Professor Dumbledore to Liz a few years later. 

“You, Miss Granger, I thought you had more sense.” 

At this point, Liz needed a pillow, too. Miri grabbed a newspaper from Minerva’s bedside table and scribbled something onto the margin before handing it over to her sister. 

_Legendary. A shame she s not wearing her hairnet tonight._ Liz frowned as she handed the newspaper back. “Hairnet?” she mouthed. 

_Used to wear a hairnet when I was a first year_ Miri explained. _But plait s nice too._

“Fifty points will be taken from Gryffindor.” 

“Fifty?” Harry gasped. Liz pulled a face and shook her hand out as though she had burned herself with a hot pan. 

“Fifty points _each._ ” 

Meanwhile, Miri was lying in Minerva’s bed on her back and threatening to explode of suppressed laughter. When Minerva came in and told her to move, she rolled out of the bed and stayed on the floor between the two beds in a fit of giggles. 

“What’s so funny?” The head of Gryffindor took off her dressing gown and tossed it in the rough direction of her wardrobe. Lying down, she added: “On the other hand – I don’t even want to know. Good night.” 

Still laughing, Miri got up from the floor and grabbed the edge of Liz’s blanket. “Move over, tiny.” 

“I am not tiny!” 

“Compared to Saint Potter, maybe.” 

Liz snickered. “Why would you compare me to someone who managed to lose a hundred and fifty points in one night?” 

Minerva sighed and sat up in bed. “Okay, girls. I know this is not an easy time for you – exams, the You-Know-What on third floor, helicopter parents at the riding school… I know all this. And I totally understand if you can’t sleep. But at least I thought I could expect a little more _maturity_ , for Merlin’s sake!” 

Miri snorted. “Hey, _we’re_ mature enough and don’t get caught all the time!” 

A sizzling sound came as an answer, then the lights went out: Minerva had drawn her bed curtains. 


	15. Peanut Pancakes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I know I'm getting on your nerves with my notes, so let's keep this short.  
> I just wanted to tell you that I wrote this chapter in Comic Sans, and it made writing feel so much easier! So, for the fellow writers out there - I know this is common advice, but I didn't believe it first although it REALLY works.  
> Hope you enjoy!

_Your detention will take place at eleven o’clock tonight._

_Meet Mr Filch in the Entrance Hall._

_Prof. M. McGonagall_

Minerva put her quill down and turned to her daughters, who were getting ready their bags for school and work before breakfast. “Miri, can you take those letters to the owlery for me?” 

Miri could. 

“Thank you. Your Wolfsbane is already in the kitchen. About tonight –” 

Liz raised her hand. “Shotgun!” It was one of the games the girls liked to play – whoever called shotgun first would be the one to spend the full moon at the much-requested Shrieking Shack. With or without Wolfsbane, the Shrieking Shack was in vogue. Incomprehensible to Minerva. 

She handed Miri the envelopes. “That’s what I wanted to say. Liz, you’re not going to the Shrieking Shack tonight, not over my dead body.” 

Miri snatched the letters and went over to the office door. “Ha-ha! Which means I can go!” 

“No!” 

The girls looked at their mum in surprise. “Why?” 

Minerva rubbed her forehead. “It’s been dangerous lately. More than usual, I mean. And you’re extremely vulnerable during your transformation,” she said quietly. If she admitted that she was worried, Miri would laugh at her. Liz would… either try to find out _what_ was so dangerous or try to get out at night more than ever. Or both. 

Miri read the names on the envelopes and snorted. “Yeah, and because it’s so dangerous you’re sending a group of first years to the Forbidden Forest,” she shot back. 

“They’re with Hagrid.” 

“I’m with my claws!” 

Minerva slammed her hands on the desk and got up. “None of you is leaving the castle tonight,” she said firmly. “Period.” 

* * *

_~~Forbidden Forest~~ _ _→ first years_

~~_Shrieking Shack_~~ _→ dangerous_

_Bathroom → uncomfortable_

_Bedroom → fur everywhere_

_Empty classroom → which one is safe?_

_Potions lab → dangerous_

_Hospital wing → I am not ill_

_Astronomy Tower → too cold and too far away_

_Room of Requirement → never tried, but too lazy anyway_

_SILENCE REQUESTED IN ANY CASE_

Liz closed her notepad and sighed. She wanted to run around, wear her claws down and howl and growl when she felt like it before finding a place to sleep for the rest of the night. Instead, she would have to walk in circles on an area that was far too small, be careful with her claws and keep silent. 

Looking out of the window, she grabbed the mug of Wolfsbane next to her and took a sip of the bitter liquid. _Frustrating._

The Room of Requirement, in which she was sitting right now, had produced a window with a broad windowsill – broad enough to sit on it and comfortably put a mug next to her. Theoretically, she could just have stayed there until her transformation; the only problem was that Minerva would be worried to death. Time for a change of plans. 

_Astronomy Tower_

_Pro:_

_Outdoors_

_Sloppy silence policies okay_

_S. _P. an_ d friends won’t get there tonight_

_Contra:_

_Too high_

_Too cold_

_Room of Requirement_

_Pro:_

_Definitely safe_

_Nice setting, probably_

_Contra:_

_Strict silence policies_

_It’s a ROOM, for god’s sake_

* * *

“Okay,” Minerva said nervously, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I can’t believe this is your first choice.” She handed Liz a blanket. They were standing on the Astronomy Tower, where Liz had decided to spend the time between her two transformations. 

The girl grinned mischievously. “It’s the best alternative to the Forest I could find.” She walked over to Minerva and put her arms around her. “You don’t have to worry about me,” she assured, looking up to her. “Whatever dangerous stuff is going on in the woods, it won’t get here.” 

Minerva sighed and pulled her daughter close. Liz knew she wouldn’t sleep all night – she never did during full moon nights. “You’ve gotta go now,” she mumbled. More because Liz had to undress before the transformation than because of actual danger – undressing on the Astronomy Tower was strange enough, but Liz was not so keen on letting anyone see the scribblings on her arms and the few scars she had, either. 

When Minerva had left, Liz took off all her clothes, stuffed them into a bag, wrapped the blanket around herself and waited for her transformation to begin. 

The transformation was more routinely than painful – it was unpleasant, but it was quick, and it felt the same every month. It hurt less if one didn’t leave one’s clothes on until they were ripped, too. For Liz, things like ‘a particular bad moon’ practically didn’t exist: Even without the Wolfsbane, transforming was a little more painful and sleeping was impossible, she would feel an increased need to use her claws on everything, howl and run – but it didn’t mean she would get up in the morning and feel dreadful. Why should she, after all? Getting up meant the most unpleasant part was over. 

Her second favourite way of spending full moons was sleeping – right after nearly everything else, from hunting small animals at the Forbidden Forest to pointless destroying the wallpapers at the Shrieking Shack. Her wolfish self was way more energetic than her human self – although tamed by the Wolfsbane, the remaining energy wanted to be used. 

By way of trial, Liz laid down and closed her eyes. Maybe she could fall asleep already? Surprise, she couldn't. Oh well. This was going to be a long night. Her thoughts wandered to her sister at the Room of Requirement. How would the room look for her? Maybe it looked like the Shrieking Shack, with new wallpapers to use her claws on, or maybe like a clearing in the woods? But it was more likely that it looked like a bedroom or the hospital wing, which would give Miri the feeling of being a ‘dark creature’ and make her drown in self-pity. Tomorrow, she would suffer of post-moon insomnia again, while Liz would probably doze off during the Charms lesson. But at least this would keep her from stabbing Hermione Granger with her wand. 

Her thoughts went on like this for a while, then Liz sprang to her feet and begun to pace up and down the area. The moon was bright behind the clouds, she thought. Clouds. Hopefully it wouldn’t rain tonight. 

“Is that you, Filch?” she suddenly heard Hagrid shout. Liz trotted towards the edge of the platform, from where she could see Hagrid’s hut and a few figures of various height – nothing exact though, they were too far away. 

“Should’ve thought of them werewolves before you got in trouble, shouldn’t you?” the caretaker then said. If the kids said something, too, it was too quiet to be heard from the Astronomy Tower. “I’ll be back at dawn – for what’s left of them.” 

Liz sneezed. Werewolves. In the Forbidden Forest. Sorry, not today. Hopefully they wouldn’t get back when she was transforming to human shape and stood on the tower naked for a moment – that would be a slightly awkward situation if they looked up. She saw Hagrid’s lantern moving, then she caught a glimpse of something shiny, silvery on the floor. For some reason, green sparks appeared before the figures made their way into the woods. 

Could that silvery stuff be unicorn blood? At least it looked like it belonged to a fantastic beast, and surely it wouldn’t be quicksilver because of which Hagrid went to the Forbidden Forest. But it could not be unicorn blood either, it just couldn't. Nobody and nothing were able to catch a unicorn – it was not like Liz had never tried, only she wasn’t fast enough. And that was saying something: She didn’t know any creature that ran faster than a werewolf. In fact, no one could know what unicorn blood looked like or what to do with it if they weren’t some kind of dark warlocks and had tried it themselves… oh, whatever. 

She started pacing up and down again. If something dangerous was going to happen tonight, she was too dumb to see it. This night was downright _boring_ , surprisingly cold and threatening to let it rain. Not one of her worst nights, but at the moment it felt like the worst of all. Liz looked up to the moon. It might have been true that wolves didn’t howl because of the moon – well, werewolves did. At least Liz always wanted to howl when she looked at the full moon, let the world know she was there; she had never asked her sister whether she felt the same way. The people in the Forbidden Forest would not be able to locate the sound, once they were in the woods, and all the others in the castle would not even hear it. 

And so, she threw her head back and howled at the moon, not caring who could or could not hear it, and it felt nothing but right. 

* * *

Exams went exactly as Liz had predicted: She was good at Charms, brilliant at Potions and just barely passed Transfiguration. The snuffbox she produced was covered in mouse-fur and had a tail – no whiskers, though – but at least it was a snuffbox. “Well… it’s not good, but… one could use it,” Minerva had said, visibly uncomfortable. “I’d love to let you plough, but you’ve passed.” 

The evening before their last exam – History of Magic – Minerva appointed a family dinner at her office. When Liz and Miri burst into the office, carrying a plate of pancakes each and floating a big bowl of apple sauce and a jar of maple syrup in front of them, the four head teachers were about to finish their meeting. If the girls had known about the meeting before, they wouldn’t have come in already – no, seriously, of course they would have. Much earlier, however, to listen in from the bedroom. 

The girls jumped onto the sofa while apple sauce and maple syrup landed on Minerva’s desk between the teachers with an adventurous manoeuvre. 

“We’ve got peanut pancaaakes!” Miri announced joyfully. 

“Obviously,” Snape said in a sepulchral voice. 

Liz snickered. “You forgot the forks and knives. Hey, don’t look at me! _I’m_ not going and getting them.” 

With a resigned move, Minerva raised her wand and two sets of cutlery appeared in the air above the bowl of apple sauce. Professor Sprout pulled it out of the way, just in time before the forks and knives could fall into the bowl and make the apple sauce splutter anywhere. 

Minerva’s face turned into stone. “Not. My. Day.” 

The professors Sprout and Flitwick packed their parchments and left for the Great Hall. Eventually, there were only Minerva and Snape left around the desk, as well as the North sisters with their pancakes on the sofa. Miri pierced Snape with her gaze. “D’you need an invitation in written form for dinner?” 

He propped his chin into his hand and pulled out his most philosophical expression. “Having dinner in the middle of a noisy hall, chock-full with kids and teenagers with no sense for brewing, while only lately having seen the proof that the majority of them is not nearly on the level they should be, which causes physical pain to me, _and_ sitting next to an empty chair and a headmaster who has been completely nuts for the better part of his life, which is especially sad as there is no prospect of his sanity returning in the foreseeable future,” he said. “Sounds bewitching, but I still prefer your company, Miranda.” 

“You can stay here,” Minerva offered. Liz was not entirely sure whether she wanted to be polite, confirm that dinner at the Great Hall was really unnerving, or whether it was a hint that she was not so keen on being alone with the girls. 

Immediately, Snape’s expression changed. “You let me ruin your family evening?” he said teasingly. “Am I _that_ important to you?” 

Miri snorted and summoned the cutlery. 

“Maybe I just don’t want to be the only one who’s not eating pancakes?” Minerva replied in her most flirtatious voice that Liz had ever had the mixed blessing to hear. 

Liz snickered. “It’s fish soup for dinner today. But you’re right, that’s a way more adultish choice of food than peanut pancakes and maple syrup.” 

Snape agreed although he didn’t look too happy about the fish soup, so Minerva called a house elf to bring some of the soup to her office. “Of course, Mistress,” the elf said, and added with a quick glance to Liz: “We would have done it earlier, but young Mistress Elizabeth didn’t say a word…” 

“That’s alright,” Minerva assured. “She will not have to shut her ears in the oven door, if that’s what you thought.” 

Miri looked like she was about to go up in flames. “Fine,” she hissed. “But I refuse to leave this sofa, let alone joining the conversation!” 

“Is that a promise that you won’t just bunk off for once?” Minerva assured herself. “If yes, that’s a great idea.” 

This moment, the house elf reappeared with a tureen of soup, so Miri abstained from an answer and attacked her pile of pancakes more aggressive than necessary. 

“Did I tell you how Liz and Seamus Finnigan blew up their cauldrons together?” Snape murmured, stirring around in his plate. Liz tried to get invisible while Miri grinned gleefully. 

Minerva finished her second portion. “Not yet, but I can imagine.” 

“Longbottom had left the classroom to get the scales he had forgotten.” He glared at Liz. “I thought it would be a stress-free lesson. That was before those two decided it would be fun if half the classroom burned down.” 

Minerva looked up from her third plate of soup. As she looked at Liz, her face was something along the lines ‘And who do you think is going to buy a new cauldron?’. 

“But we both got excellent marks,” Liz defended herself. “And everyone thought it was funny.” 

“Everyone,” Snape repeated. “Except everyone present.” 

There was a break in which Snape forced himself to finish his plate of soup and Minerva emptied the tureen, only interrupted by Miri’s ringing mobile phone. No one but herself knew how she had managed to screen the phone from the magic that was oozing out from everywhere and why she could pick up a signal with her phone at all. Without comment she pulled it from her pocket and left the office. 

Minerva cleared her throat. “Well, we could have expected that. Liz, I asked Professor Binns what the History exam would look like – I didn’t think he would tell me, but apparently he forgot that one of my daughters is a scholar. He told me he wouldn’t ask about the Werewolf Code of Conduct from 1637, that’s really a shame.” 

“I think it’s rather good that he won’t ask that,” Liz objected. “I… didn’t even know there was a Code of Conduct.” 

Minerva frowned. “I didn’t expect you to listen at History, but I’m sure I told you about the Code of Conduct before.” 

Liz considered this for a moment. Then she asked sceptically: “Minerva – how old was I when you told me?” 

“Age is just a number,” Snape said when Minerva didn’t answer. 

“And jail is just a room,” Liz replied automatically, which was Minerva’s standard reply to that phrase. “I believe you told me ‘bout that Code when I was four or so, but it’s quite natural I don’t remember it anymore.” 

“I told you how to spell ‘Potions’ when you were four,” Snape threw in. “You haven’t forgotten since then.” 

“Professor, that’s not helpful!” 

Minerva sighed. “Whatever. It was just something about making sure you’re not biting people, disturbing them with too loud howling… it’s not relevant for the exam anyway.” 

“Talking about howling,” Snape interrupted her, “I seemed to hear someone howl the last full moon night. Was that you, Liz?” 

“Of course it was me – Miri is still fighting that pointless battle against her wolfish self. If she’s ever been howling in her life, I didn’t hear it.” 

“Not so unusual for a werewolf,” the Potions master said thoughtfully. “As far as I know, the last one with your self-confidence was Fenrir Greyback.” 

Liz groaned and stretched out on the sofa. “I’m glad I don’t have such a name,” she stated. “Greyback, that’s a dumb name. Almost as obvious as if one was called ‘Delaware Wolf’ or ‘Lee Cantrophy’ or ‘Remus Lu-’” She caught a warning look from Minerva. “Well, you know what I mean.” 

“Mmh.” Minerva was absent-mindedly tracing the pictures on the soup tureen with her finger. “Wait!” she suddenly said. Her eyes narrowed as she turned to Snape. 

“I was not going to leave.” 

“How could you notice when Liz howled? I was in my office, and I didn’t hear anything!” 

“Oh, I wasn’t in the castle when I heard it. I was spying on Quirrell, trying to find out what he was doing in the Forbidden Forest. His behaviour has gotten extremely strange since he’s back from his journey.” 

“Same with Potter,” Liz added. “He probably knows about the Philos… ‘bout the You-Know-What. You should keep an eye on him.” 

“Don’t tell your mum what she should and shouldn’t do,” Snape admonished her before Minerva had a chance to answer. “By the way, her chessmen are going to kill Potter anyway if he gets past Fluffy. And in the unlikely case they let him win, he won’t survive my Potions riddle.” 

“A Potions riddle?” Liz almost jumped in her seat. “I want to try that! I mean… if you’re not hitting me with a book when I get it wrong.” 

“No, you don’t,” he predicted gloomily. “She,” he pointed his head at Minerva, “forced me to make it a poem. It’s awful. No one wants to read that.” 

Minerva rolled her eyes at him. “Don’t act like the poem was the part that should kill the intruder. Don’t worry, Liz, I’m going to make sure Harry doesn’t get to the corridor.” 

Liz snickered. “If you fail, he’s the Boy Who Lived,” she asserted. “Literally.” 


	16. The Philosopher's Stone

Minerva was sitting by a window in the staff room and holding a cup of tea when Severus came in. As soon as he saw her, he came over and took a seat next to her.  
"What are you doing here?" he asked, "I thought you wanted to keep an eye on Potter?"

"I could ask you the same about Quirrell," she replied.

"He's at the greenhouses, talking with Pomona. She agreed to keep him busy for a while. Now, what about Potter?"

"Caught him two times," Minerva reported. "Seems like Liz was right. But I threatened to take another fifty points if they didn't stop lurking around the restricted corridor - Potter and Weasley, I mean. Didn't fail its impact."

"Which leaves the question why you are here." He followed her gaze to the other side of the room, where Hooch was flicking through a broomstick magazine. "Now I understand..." In a pseudo-understanding tone he added: "It's okay to feel feelings, Minerva."

"For the last time, Severus!" she hissed. "Hooch! Is! Not! My! Lover! And even _if_ I had feelings for anyone in this room, it wouldn't be your business!"

"Too bad. You two would be such a nice couple..."

Minerva moaned. "Rule number one," she said, more to herself than to Severus. "Keep your hands off colleagues, unless you're leaving the country tomorrow and never coming back."

"Whose rule is that, Dippet's?"

"Mine."

"Too bad," he said again. "I'm on duty tonight, do you trust me or do you want to stay up, too - in case your Gryffindors try it again at night?"

"That will hardly be necessary," Minerva said with as much dignity as possible. "Harry comes after Lily, I think, and he already lost a great many of points and his reputation due to midnight excursions. He won't sneak out at night again."

Severus coughed. "You and thinking..."

Minerva slowly turned her head. "Pardon?"

He raised his hands innocently. "I'm just saying you're better at kissing than at thinking."

"I know," she said modestly. "What's wrong with that?"

Severus leant back in his chair. "Christmas 1975," he said. "Remember that mistletoe?"

"I'm afraid so."

"In retrospect, that was the grottiest kiss I ever got."

"Well, we can't all be as talented as your ex-girlfriend... what was her name again?"

"Kat."

Minerva smirked. "Like feline or like Katrina?"

* * *

Liz woke up in the middle of the night - again. This time it was because she heard the doorknob turn. Which was rather alarming, because Miri was lying next to her and Minerva's blanket rustled in the neighboured bed.

Slowly and carefully, Liz bent over her sister and grabbed Miri's wand that was lying on the bedside table. As she enlightened it, she didn't believe her eyes. The gatecrasher was nobody else than - Severus Snape.

"You?" she hissed. "What the _heck_ are you doing in my bedroom _in the middle of the night?!_ "

Next to her, Miri sat up in bed. " _Our_ bedroom," she corrected. "And even more important: _Her_ bedroom." She pointed over to Minerva, who was still asleep. "What for the sake of I-don't-know-what are you up to in her bedroom? And why doesn't she possess the decency to wake up already?!"

"You're right," Snape said bewilderedly when he looked at Minerva. "Let me fix that." He sat on the edge of her bed and gripped her plait as though he wanted to pull her hair out.

Minerva opened her eyes immediately. "Ow!"

"It's about Quirrell," he said. "And Potter. And the Philosopher's Stone."

"Weren't you supposed to...?"

"Weren't _you_ supposed to...? But Gryffindor wasn't going to win the House Cup anyway."

And after she was done with shouting at him, Snape made himself comfortable to tell them the long, confusing story of Quirinus Quirrell, who had been accommodating You-Know-Who in his head for some reason and trying to get the Philosopher's Stone for him, and of Harry Potter, who didn't respect authorities, and of how Lily had saved the wizarding world once again. When he reached the part about Lily, Minerva elbowed him, and when he explained to Liz how she wouldn't have survived because Minerva hadn't died for her yet, "but you wouldn't have reached the Stone anyway", he had to get up in order to not have his ribs broken. "For multiple reasons," he assured Minerva, as though it would make a difference now. "You wouldn't have let her go down there in the first place." Then he told her that the first years were looked after by Madam Pomfrey and Professor Dumbledore had dealed with everything else, so they could all go back to sleep now.

"Cool," Miri yawned when he was finished. "And that couldn't wait until tomorrow?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congratulations, you made it through the last chapter!  
> Thanks for reading, for bookmarking, for kudos... Comments are highly appreciated, too.


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